


The Whistleblower

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Frottage, M/M, warning: minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A weekend-long invitation to attend a wedding taking place on the Sunday brings old friends and new ones together within the setting of a Hertfordshire manor house.  Arthur meets Merlin for the first time in six years and memories of a painful break-up surface. Side characters waltz around doing their thingy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whistleblower

Arthur kicked his legs and pushed powerfully towards the surface. Arms starting on the stroke evenly, he made the third twenty-metre lap. When he hit the wall he found he had the strength for another one and flipped around.

He swam, keeping his chin low in the water, his kick coordinated with his arm pull, each one matching his arm's entry in the water. His heart beat fast; his hips swaying as water brushed along his sides, cool like a shock to the system.

One final intake of breath and he swam over to the edge of the pool, grabbed the ladder's sides and pulled himself out. 

Water in his eyes, he strode to a chaise to pick up his towel. He dried his chest and hair with it, droplets chasing down his spine and elbows, dripping off his earlobes, clinging to his skin and hair and tickling his cock.

His trunks clung tight to his skin, the weight of the water tugging them down. They were wet and uncomfortable. So he hooked his thumbs under his waistband and slipped them over his knees and ankles. Then finally they were off, a slap of chilly morning air making the hairs on his thighs stand on end.

He wadded his trunks up and tossed them onto the chaise, towelling himself thoroughly. 

His cock heavy between his legs. He gave a thought to taking himself in hand, but nixed the idea when the French windows opened. 

Montgomery made his way up to him, a silver tray balanced in his hands, black leather shoes sinking deep in the grass.

Arthur told himself that he'd have to order it cut, even though he loved the burst of colour, a deep green, and the way it rustled in the breeze. It was a good reminder of the simpler things.

While Arthur was lost in thought, Montgomery caught up with him. “The mail, sir,” he said, ignoring Arthur's blatant nakedness while pushing the tray towards him. Arthur picked up the three envelopes it bore. 

One came from his lawyer, Arthur would have been able to recognise the headed paper anywhere, another was an RSVP invitation card to a party, while the third envelope was big and square, made of paper maché and looking suspiciously like a wedding invitation. 

Arthur took the lot and lay himself down on the chaise, throwing the wet towel over his crotch and dismissing the butler. 

He read the one from his lawyer first because it seemed the most important though it proved to be a report of the actions taken by the legal firm on behalf of Pendragon Enterprises. Since it was a précis of the measures adopted over the last two quarters, it was not news. Arthur felt confident that the attached bill would be extravagant, but he forewent reading it for the moment. He could imagine the kind of numbers the invoices would present even without doing so.

He gave the second card a cursory once over: it was enough to establish that he'd been invited to attend the party given to inaugurate the opening of a new boutique hotel. He had no intention of going. The third was, as he had surmised, an invitation to a wedding. The sight of the engraved names though, was totally unexpected and occasioned an eyebrow raise. 

_Gwaine Gladstone and Vivian Prince_

_Humbly request your presence at their marriage  
on Sunday, the 7th of June 2012,  
at four o'clock in the afternoon.  
St Nicholas Church, Elstree, Hertfordshire._

Arthur scoffed at the phrasing, picked himself up, slung the still mostly wet towel over his shoulders and went back to the house with the intention of dressing and having breakfast before he tackled the matter of the invitation. 

Once dressed, he repaired to his study to place a call. 

Gwaine picked up just as Arthur was about to hang up, voice deep with the marked cadence of sleep. “Hello, whoever this is, know that it's way too early for me to hold any rational conversation, so good-bye.”

Before Gwaine could hang up as he'd threatened, Arthur said, “Gwaine?”

“Arthur?” Arthur heard the sound of rustling sheets in the background, clear as a shot. “Oh, God, Arthur.”

Arthur swivelled his chair round so he had a view of pool and garden as he spoke. “You sound surprised but you were the one who invited me to your wedding so it's me that should be flummoxed. By the way you're marrying an actress but dropping the title?”

“Names are just names,” Gwaine said, sounding more alert now. “And people can make of us what they want. Is her fame the only reason why you picked up the phone? It's been...”

“Six years,” Arthur supplied smoothly, as though the memory didn't drive a stake through his heart every time. “And, no, it's not your bride to be's fame that's enticed me.”

More tactfully than Arthur had anticipated, Gwaine didn't ask for the reason behind Arthur's call. He accepted the obvious one entailing the invitation and went for a joke instead, almost making Arthur think that Gwaine must have matured over those six years. “Actually, I invited you hoping you'd distract the paps or something.”

Arthur chuckled, wondering whether Gwaine was waiting for him to ask the particular question both of them must have had in mind, not sure himself if he would, until he said something entirely different. “I'm not the person I used to be, so I'm not sure how good at deflection I'll be. Or how good of a decoy.”

“You can say I tried,” said Gwaine less than serious. “Hey, I hope you'll come over for the entire week-end starting Friday though. I'll have to introduce you to Viv.”  
Arthur took a moment to ponder the question. 

Picturing himself in Gwaine's company again was hard. The fear that everything would be fake now, a pantomime of the friendship they'd had before, licked at his conscience and made him experience a wave of unease. 

Would it be a tired re-hash of days gone by? Would they still like each other? Three days was a long time if the answer was ‘no’. 

“All right,” he said, a less than sane impulse spurring him on. “I'll spend the week-end over at Halbury Manor. I suppose I'll get to know the future countess better this way.”

“I hope there won't be a repeat performance of--”

Arthur cut him off before Gwaine could say it. “No, that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing. And...”

“It was different then,” Gwaine agreed with him. “But this time...”

“Now you'll tell me that this is _it_ for you.”

Gwaine laughed. It was so high-pitched he probably caused the woman he was with, whom Arthur supposed to be Vivian Prince, to complain in the background. “Lord, this is so early! Why are you even on the phone?”

“We're certainly alike,” Gwaine said. Then evidently addressing the woman, he said, “It's an old pal of mine. One of those blokes who manage to be active at these ungodly hours and take pride in it.”

Arthur smiled. “You big slob. It's nine.”

“I take pride in being a slob .”

“Be a quieter slob,” the woman said.

“Will do, my lady.” The smacking noise of a kiss slapped on flesh was unmistakable.

“I'll better leave you to it,” said Arthur. “So, I believe I'll see you in two months then.”

“Yeah.” Arthur was sure Gwaine was resettling himself on the bed the springs made so much noise. “But I'm not stopping you if you should want to drop by before then.”

Arthur's heart warmed at that and he promised he would see what he could do to make that possible, but warning Gwaine in advance about how he was always working these days. Amid feminine giggles from the other side, the conversation drew to an end.

Arthur turned around in his chair again so he was facing the more sombre vista of his study and tapped the card against his lips. Stranger things happened every day after all. And who knew? Who knew?

***** 

Arthur had meant to pace the drive into Hertfordshire so as to make something relaxing of it. He'd dismissed his driver with the intent of giving the weekend an informal vibe from the get go and told himself he'd drive leisurely so as to be at Halbury Manor in time for dinner.  
Instead, foot heavy on the accelerator and grip tight on the steering wheel, he found himself there in time for tea.

Gwaine jogged down the steps in welcome. Arthur got out of the car and Gwaine gave him a hug and a chest slap before Arthur had quite managed to pocket his keys. “You've changed,” he said. “You look much more...”

“Mature?”

Gwaine tutted, rounded the car and said, “That's not your fault, you know. Not everybody can age as splendidly as me.”

Arthur shook his head, tapping his lower lip to hide a smile, the pricking feeling under his skin easing. “You, on the contrary, haven't changed at all.”

And Gwaine hadn't. His hair was still too long for him to appear credible at any board meeting, and his relaxed gait was the same, as were his smiles. 

They were still that disconcerting mix of happy-go-lucky and slightly leering – as if perpetually hinting at dirty thoughts churning under the amiable surface -- only Gwaine could get away with without being called a sex maniac.

Gwaine patted his own chest. “What can I say? I'm fantastic. It's a fact.”

“I never said it was a good thing,” Arthur shot back. He moved to open the boot of the car to get the luggage he'd stashed there earlier that morning. Gwaine took his week-end trolley from him, batting his hands off and protesting he was carrying the lot since Arthur was a guest. Arthur decided not to fight him on this and took his clothes bag. 

Gwaine bounded up the steps that led up into the marble hall of the manor house and Arthur followed him.

Much like Gwaine, the place itself hadn't changed; ceiling frescoes greeted him as he entered as did the pristine winding marble staircase Arthur had always admired. Its lateral stone friezes were a work of art. They took the shape of flowers and diamonds and made him think of princesses trapped in fairytales more than anything remotely connected with Gwaine or Gwaine's tastes. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Gwaine, “same old stuffy place. Too decadent. An eyesore, really.”  
The ceiling frescos, real Renaissance work, if Arthur was a judge, begged to differ. “Why don't you renovate? Do up the place in a modern style?” Arthur teased.

“Nah,” said Gwaine. “It'd take too much effort.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “As if I believe you.”

Gwaine spluttered and changed the subject. “By the way, Viv wanted to be there to welcome you but she was sure you couldn't possibly get here before eight so she went out riding.”

“I'd scheduled it like that too... but powerful cars, you know.”

Having strode down a heavily carpeted hallway, they'd reached the door to what Arthur supposed was his room. It was definitely in the same wing as his old one. It could very well be his old one. Gwaine leant against it and cocked an eyebrow. 

“Mmm,” he said. “Powerful cars. You really learn to appreciate the wonders of German engineering, don't you?”

Arthur dipped his head against his chest, avoiding Gwaine’s inquisitiveness. “Won't you open the door?”

Gwaine did, following him inside and resting Arthur's trolley on an antique chest Arthur felt sure was not meant to be treated that way. “It's your old one.”

The space was as familiar as he’d initially thought though most bedrooms on this floor were alike. Arthur scanned it for differences from the place of his memories and could only spot a few minor ones. The radiator was modern and had to have been changed. There was a brand new flat screen TV sitting on top of the desk opposite the bed that hadn't been there when Arthur had been a guest in the past. And the two armchairs had swapped places. “I realised that it was, you know.”

Gwaine rubbed his hands together as Arthur hung his suite bag from the wardrobe door. “You haven't asked who's here.”

Arthur opened the bag and swept his hand down the new suit he'd wear during the ceremony. “Do I need to?”

“Leon's here with his wife,” said Gwaine. “He told me you still see each other here and there.”

“We move in the same circles,” Arthur inspected his suit more closely. “Though we only meet in the flesh once in a while.”

“Yeah, he told me.” Arthur could hear the floor creak as Gwaine shifted his weight. “There are my new mates Percy and Geraint. You know Lancelot. And some of my family members. Lance's girlfriend is new. Her name is Guinevere. But don't call her that. She doesn't like it.”  
Arthur sighed.

Gwaine said, “Viv's dad staying. It's been a nightmare, really. How can you have loud sex with the father of your woman sleeping a floor above you, I don't know.”  
Arthur turned. “I would never have thought that could stop you.”

“It's not stopping me.” Gwaine did leer this time. “I just wish the man would stop scowling at me over breakfast.”

“I'll be looking forward to seeing his scowls then.”

“And--” Gwaine hesitated, very nearly wringing his hands. “Shit, you must have known.”

“Is he here?” Arthur asked, meeting Gwaine's knowing eyes more of a challenge than he would have thought.

“He's flying over, so, yeah, unless there's been a last second change he should be here tonight.”

Arthur nodded, though his heart leapt in his throat all the same. “You said flying, so he's still in...”

“You probably know better than me,” Gwaine answered. “But, yes. Don't ask me anything else or I'd feel like a rat.”

“No, no, I realise.”

Gwaine sat on the bed, waving his arms about in an agitated fashion. “Crap, Arthur. He's one of my best mates despite you stealing him from me." A gentle smile crept onto Gwaine's lips. "A miracle that I kept him all this time. I couldn't not.”

Arthur moved to sit next to Gwaine. “You shouldn't have to apologise for inviting a close friend to your wedding.”

Gwaine kicked at the bed frame, raking a hand through his hair. “Believe me, I considered the issue. I pondered this more than anything else I've ever done. Okay, maybe apart from asking Vivian, because that’s commitment. And at the end of the day I went for my only option. Let you guys decide.”

“I think I can face this like an adult,” Arthur said, probably skating over the edge of a lie. “And I'm sure Merlin will see it like that too. I'm sure...” He wondered whether he had any grounds to be sure, to think he still knew Merlin. 

He wanted to ask Gwaine whether Merlin had said something relating to them. Anything at all. Even the knowledge of a passing reference would have bolstered Arthur. But he didn't, because he might not have mentioned Arthur or said things Arthur wouldn't want to hear. Ignorance was a blessing on occasion. “I'm sure Merlin will deal better than me. He's always been the one better able to...” He didn't think 'cope' was the right word but he didn't have to settle on a better one.

Gwaine provided it for him, “Learn how to move on.”

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “I hope he has. He won't make a scene. And I promise you I don't intend to.”

Gwaine patted his leg. “I never thought you would.” The patting dwindled to nothing more than an embarrassed brush. At which point Gwaine heaved himself to his feet. “Well, I'll leave you to your room now. Dinner is whenever you guys come down. I've been entertaining relatives for the better part of a week and I can reveal that that generally means dinner is when they get hungry. Which is sometimes past eight o'clock.”

“Eight, got that.”

“If you should feel ravenous before that our beauteous Mary, the most splendid cook ever, will whip something up for you.”

Arthur lifted a hand, palm up. “I think I'll be able to resist till dinner time.”

“Then you'll probably have room for Mary's Stroganoff. It's her forte.”

Arthur rose and slapped Gwaine's belly. “I'd watch myself if I were you,” he said. “Beautiful wife, stately manor, gifted cook. You'll soon lose your six pack.”

Gwaine threw his head back and laughed. “I'm in no danger.” He winked. “My beautiful wife won't be satisfied unless some pretty strenuous activities have been indulged in.”

It was Arthur's turn to laugh as he accompanied Gwaine to the door. “Perhaps you should patent that as a method for keeping fit.”

Gwaine loitered in the doorway, hand on the handle. “I would but I gather that not everyone is blessed with my stamina or with such a hot, skilled partner.”

Arthur shook his head at Gwaine as he left. “Quit bragging,” he called after him.  
Arthur watched him bounce lightly along the corridor and down the stairs and found some relief in his friend's happiness. 

At least something was going well. Gwaine had found his match. In a way it was an uplifting thought, a promise that happiness in whichever guise was waiting around the corner for everybody. 

He closed the door on a sigh. Well, perhaps the truth wasn't as rosy as all that for everyone but thinking happiness an achievable state would see him through tonight.

And he really thought Gwaine had a shot at happiness, a supposition he believed would be confirmed when he saw his friend with Vivian. 

He thought of himself as a decent judge of character and believed that watching Gwaine and Vivian interact would shed light on their relationship. 

But there was time before that.

Given that tonight's dinner was going to be somewhat formal, as the presence of some of Gwaine's titled relatives warranted, Arthur went for a shower and change of clothes.  
After all, he'd been out all day long and felt like it to boot, the drive not having relaxed him at all.

He was slow and methodical about his toilette, trying to dwell on present contingencies more than on his expectations. He had a shower. He lathered his hair twice, shaved again although he'd done it thoroughly in the morning and fished a fresh shirt out of his luggage. 

He was barefoot and tucking his shirt tails inside his trousers when the rumble of an engine drowned all other noises in the room. 

Holding his breath, Arthur pulled his zip up and went to the window. Before drawing the curtains back he waited to take a big breath, one that he hoped would calm him, stop the electricity from zinging fast along his nerves. It didn't help much: his heart was beating to a redoubled cadence.

Yet he couldn't wait for it to start to behave before he let himself know. So he peeked out. “It could be anyone,” he told himself.

A taxi had driven up the driveway and was parked behind a gun metal grey Porsche. 

The driver had left the car door open and was standing by the boot as he was being paid by a tall, lanky man dressed in light-wash jeans and a sepia shirt. 

That man was unmistakably Merlin. From his second floor perch Arthur couldn't make out much more than that. 

Merlin had an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. It looked like leather and as if it was pretty worn. 

Even from this far Arthur could tell that Merlin's hair was shorter than it had been when Arthur had known him. He wasn't sporting a buzz cut but his fringe was gone and so were those tufts of hair that used to curl at his nape. 

His fashion sense didn't seem to have changed much either barring his having now gone for a shirt that could have been a dress shirt instead of a threadbare tee. 

As for the rest of him, his shoulders were wider but his frame was the same, lithe, perched on long legs that always seemed longer because of the way he walked. 

His attitude too didn't seem to be much different. He was still friendly. In fact Arthur saw Merlin smile and nod very amicably at the driver, who shook his hand quite vigorously, as if he was happy with Merlin's approachability. Arthur suspected Merlin of having given the man an overly generous tip, a supposition that seemed confirmed by the taxi driver's patting of his pockets and affable body language. 

Before Arthur could draw more conclusions as to Merlin though, the taxi had taken to rolling slowly down the drive towards the gate and Merlin had ducked inside. 

Even with no glimpse of him Arthur stayed at the window, imagining the welcome he'd receive from Gwaine, Merlin's expression at seeing him, and the one he'd get meeting a star like Vivian. Merlin had used to love cinema. He’d dragged Arthur to stupid art-house film screenings and to re-releases of old cartoon classics.

He tried to picture what was transpiring in the hall and was managing beautifully, his mind's eye supplying small details like the quirk of Merlin's lips or the crinkles appearing around his eyes, when the clock down the hallway struck half past eight.

If Arthur wanted to be a good guest he'd better go down for dinner. He finished dressing quickly, leaving his jacket in favour of a jumper but wearing the old cuff links Merlin had once given him.

Hands less than steady, heartbeat still not tamed, he made his way to the dining room.  
As predicted, given the number of guests, the room was full. Arthur's eyes travelled fast across it, picking out the occupants. 

Lancelot was standing by the window, a glass of wine in his hand. A petite woman whose bouncy curls brushed past her shoulders was next to him. They seemed to be deep in conversation, Lancelot's hand on her shoulder, some weight behind it, her eyes levelled on his chest as she gripped the stem of her wine glass tight.

Arthur couldn't hear the words but they both seemed very earnest. 

Some distance from them Gwaine's uncle, the Honourable Gareth Gladstone, was  
leaning against the window, showing the vista to a girl half his age whom Arthur had never seen before.

Leon was there too, seemingly in deep conversation with a distinguished middle-aged gentleman who looked somewhat like Vivian Prince and whom Arthur deduced was the bride's father.  
Two blokes Arthur didn't know, one of whom was as tall as a door, were discussing rugby scores.

Gwaine and Vivian, of course, weren't missing. Gwaine hadn't changed from earlier in the afternoon even though all his guests had. 

As for Vivian Prince, she was as fabulous and polished as she appeared on screen. It was the first time Arthur had set eyes on her in the flesh – as opposed to a few words exchanged on the phone – but she seemed to have stepped out of a frame of _Love's Kiss_.

She was wearing a teal knee-length dress that made her eyes pop and made her slim curves look delicious. Her hair formed gentle waves that framed her face lovingly. She hardly looked made-up but for the dash of vibrant colour on her lips. She looked like a 1940s star. 

There were even more people around, all as impeccably turned out as Vivian.

Arthur's attention wasn't engaged by them as it was by Merlin's absence though, all those positives turned into nothing by one single negative. 

However, he couldn't ask questions on that, and headed for Gwaine who was busy showing his wife to be off to all his guests in turn, and Gwaine was likely the only one who'd be able to provide an answer. 

Even knowing that his thirst for knowledge wouldn't be satisfied, Arthur moved over to them so as to be introduced to Vivian. 

Noticing his move, Gwaine called out to him from half across the room before Arthur could accomplish his mission without having all eyes on him. Not heeding Arthur's mild discomfort, Gwaine started waving in his direction. 

Arthur stopped in his tracks.

Seeing that, Gwaine crossed to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder much as a horse breeder would pat a horse's wither to show off his champion.

“Hey, people,” said Gwaine, evidently not much caring about whom he was addressing as such. 

“Some of you know this fella quite well,” he said, causing Leon, Lancelot, and a few other of Gwaine's relatives to raise their glasses – if they were drinking – or their hands in greeting.

“As for those of you who don't know Arthur,” Gwaine continued, “know that he's egregiously rich, has a stick up his arse at times, but can be a very good friend if you're patient enough to let all that blow over you.”

“Why, thank you, Gwaine,” said Arthur, not particularly enjoying being the centre of attention. “With an introduction like that your guests are sure to like me.”

His comment was answered by benevolent laughter. And then footsteps sounded, the floor creaked like the deck of a ship under a broadside, and both he and Gwaine turned.  
Merlin was there.

He'd changed shirts, though the one he was wearing now was very similar in style to the one he'd had on when he was in the courtyard. As for the rest, he took Arthur's breath away. 

His eyes were just the same, blue as a storm, though the light in them was more subdued than Arthur remembered. 

Now that he was closer, Arhur could also see how his body had weathered the six years they'd been apart. In a way he looked bigger. His shoulders certainly were but he was perhaps overall thinner, as though something was the matter with him. 

Arthur let his eyes travel down his body. Merlin was hunching in on himself, his shoulders drooping. His legs were more like sticks than ever and... He was wearing a wedding ring.

Arthur almost staggered back when he focused on the plain band encircling his finger. It was just like Merlin, simple and unadorned. It was real.

“Hello, everybody,” said Merlin, eyes avoiding Arthur's. “I'm sorry for being late. My plane was delayed.”

Gwaine left Arthur's side to go and hug Merlin. He lifted him from off the floor, only putting him down once the embrace had lasted so long most guests had turned to giggling at it. Gwaine let Merlin go with a groan. Well, Arthur reckoned, Gwaine had been the victim of his own grandiose gestures. Merlin was tall and Gwaine was in no way taller than him. The effort involved in lifting him for that long must have been considerable though it was clearly dictated by enthusiasm. 

Merlin smiled, cheeks red, and patted Gwaine's back. “So glad to see you.” 

He peeked past Gwaine's shoulder and for a moment Arthur held his breath, but Merlin's eyes didn't dwell on him at all, going to Vivian instead.

It stung. It made Arthur want to go there and shake him, force him to meet his eyes at least, but of course he stifled that instinct. This was Gwaine's happy moment and it wouldn't do to ruin it, to do something that would cause people to ask questions and gossip so hard they weren’t concentrating on the lucky couple. Besides, what could he possibly say or do, that would change things now?

“Vivian,” Merlin said, “congratulations.”

Vivian moved over to him, brushing past Arthur. Like Gwaine she hugged Merlin tight, searching his face when she was done. She studied him intently, her face thrown in profile, as if there was something to learn from Merlin's expression.

Merlin let her eyes roam across his features. He was smiling and Arthur would have called his smile bright but for the tightness around his eyes. He was holding himself a little stiffly too; fisting Vivian's dress at her waist, his knuckles white. 

Arthur didn't understand the reason behind Merlin's reaction to a commonplace welcome. But he saw it and filed it all away.

“It was nice of you to invite me here,” Merlin said, brushing his hand up and down Vivian's back. It was both familiar and meant to soothe, Arthur decided, wondering when Merlin had had the opportunity to meet Gwaine's fiancée before.

“Of course I would have you,” said Vivian, practically cooing at Merlin. “You're gonna be the cutest best man ever.”

And here was something Gwaine had neglected to tell Arthur. Merlin was no random guest.

“Not really fitting the description,” Merlin said, “but I'm glad to be here.” A shadow passed over Merlin's eyes, quickly there and soon gone. “I know I wasn't the most obvious choice, not with everything, but I'm glad you asked all the same.”

“I'm glad you're glad,” said Vivian. “Gwaine and I had long discussions about it but I thought it would turn out to be all right by you.”

“I was happy you asked,” Merlin said, at last hugging Vivian back more than she was him. When Merlin let her go, other people came forward. Some to greet Merlin: some to be introduced to him. The same happened to Arthur.

Lancelot and Leon came up to Arthur to exchange more personal greetings and did the same when they ambled over to Merlin after having dealt with Arthur.

Arthur didn't miss the covert glancing they were sending towards one of them when they were with the other, but did his best to act as though he had. 

Conversation flowed in the way it did when you meet old friends you have little in common with anymore. 

Leon asked Arthur about his business, inquiring as to how it was going since they'd last met. “Given the changes in leadership,” he said. And Arthur asked Leon much the same questions though worded differently. 

Lancelot, being Lancelot, asked Arthur whether he was happy in London (“I’d always thought you wanted to move to your mum’s place in the north,”) and Arthur said he was because Lancelot's smile seemed to necessitate a positive answer. Lancelot didn’t seem to be built for sadness or compromise. For harsh reality. “I have a nice house in East Finchley.”

Lancelot asked, “Oh, where? I haven't been to London in a while. Living in Essex at the moment.”

“Bishop's Avenue.”

Lancelot whistled. “Wow, and are your neighbours billionaire Russian entrepreneurs or Middle Eastern Princes?”

“Neither I'm afraid,” Arthur said a little tightly. “A guy who's into steel and who's a bit of a nutter about security. His Dobermans are out for blood and his bodyguards are worse.”

Lancelot's smile thinned a little. “I see.”

“And how about you?” he asked.

“I'm a fundraising officer for a pro bono.”

Arthur slapped Lancelot on the arm. “I've always thought that was the kind of thing you'd love and end up doing.”

Lance's already tentative smile mysteriously flattened into a thin line. “I was actually hankering after something a bit more hands on, though in the same line of business.”

Arthur looked for a subject that would bother Lance less, eyes wandering over to Gwen. “Gwaine told me that you're hitched now.”

Lancelot said, “She's fantastic. I'll introduce her as soon as I can free her from Ms Prince's bridesmaids.” Despite the change of topic, the tightness to Lance's mouth hadn't lifted though his tone was far brighter. It appeared strange to Arthur. The more so when Gwen started looking their way quite intently. 

The guests mingled some more and Arthur's eyes stole to Merlin from time to time in spite of the frequent distractions.

By looking at him Arthur could establish that Merlin had grown less shy over the years while conversely a new aura of reserve seemed to have come to shroud his actions. 

He appeared to talk willingly. Arthur overheard him discuss this point or that of international law or politics. But while he seemed to have a knack for debating, his natural charming openness had gone or was temporarily in hiding. Merlin now lowered his eyes, shielded himself from questions or trailed off abruptly as if to preserve his privacy. Something he'd never done in the past.

Arthur never heard him mention personal subjects or laugh as freely and lightly as when he'd delighted Arthur back in uni. 

More and more Arthur convinced himself that there was some mystery to him. Now obviously maybe Arthur was seeing things. A few minutes was too short a span of time to make decisions as to Merlin's overall behaviour, much more so when Arthur was beset by people eager to make small talk with him and therefore not capable of concentrating fully on Merlin. But the notion niggled at him. 

Arthur wanted to tell himself Merlin wasn't at ease in this company and that that was the cause for his change in behaviour. He refused to accept that Merlin had lost his sparkle or that he'd changed so much Arthur wouldn't know him anymore.

Arthur couldn't reflect much more on the subject because he was waylaid by Gareth, who was accompanied by Liz, one of the bridesmaids. Then the butler and his dinner bell put a further stop to Arthur's sneaky study of Merlin. At the sound they all filed down the room to take places at the table.

Arthur found himself sitting next to Gareth and another one of the bridesmaids, a carbon copy of Vivian, but for her eyes, which were dark. 

Gwaine was sitting opposite him at the centre of the table, sharing the spotlight with Vivian herself. 

A little further down were Gwen, Lancelot and Merlin, who formed a group against the tides of Gwaine's relatives. Then came the blokes Arthur had dubbed The Rugby Lads.

At the head of the table on one side sat Mr Prince and on the other side was Leon's wife, a cute, classy blonde that went by the odd name of Forridel.

Entrees were served and wine was poured. Conversation became more general and the silent pauses dictated by eating a little longer. 

One of the bridesmaids asked Vivian questions about her next film, which was how Arthur found out that she had a new one in the works. 

“The screenplay hasn't been finalised yet,” she said, eyeing Merlin, who was drinking. “But as soon as it is, we'll head off to Martinique for the shoot. Which leaves me all the time in the world to enjoy my honeymoon.”

Gwen sighed admiringly, Lancelot looked at his plate and Merlin poured himself another glassful, not without smiling first and saying, “To the happy couple.”

“Will you be joining Vivian?” Gwen asked Gwaine. “Martinique sounds like paradise to me.”

“Actually, no,” said Gwaine. “She'll be working twelve hours stints acting the role of dreaded pirate, so I won't stress her out and use the pause to balance the manor's books.” Here Gwaine flicked a look at his uncle Gareth, but the man was too busy licking into the bridesmaid's ear to pay any attention to his nephew. “With my uncle's help.”

Leon showed himself interested and even offered his help. “Just in case,” he said, looking at Gareth doubtfully.

Arthur drifted out of the conversation, not even producing small noises here and there to make it look as though he was absorbed in the on-going exchange. 

Instead he watched Merlin. He wasn't eating much and he stopped drinking the moment the conversation drifted away from him. His smile was there but it wasn't as vibrant as Arthur remembered it and it positively faltered over the strangest things.

For example the blond bridesmaid Gareth had an eye on (Arthur thought her name was Alana), said, “My god, I'm starting to feel the pressure of being a bridsemaid. I mean, what if I trip? I'll ruin Viv's day.”

Gwen smiled sweetly. “I'm sure she'll be so happy her day won't be ruined. Not even if you were to trip and fall and roll like a bowling ball all the way down the aisle.” She lifted a wine glass in a half toast. “That's the magic of weddings.” She paused and added, “And of love.”

Lancelot ducked his head and Merlin lost his fork. He was quick to dive and get it back, beating the under-butler to it. The incident was overlooked by many but not by Gwaine, or Lancelot. 

Arthur would have made as little of it as the other guests if those two hadn't drawn his attention to it, making of such a tiny incident a conundrum. This, coupled with Merlin's change in behaviour, pricked Arthur's ears. 

It made him want to go there and talk to Merlin so he could understand this new version of him. This new version that was the same and yet intangibly different. He couldn't though. Not without drawing all eyes to himself and, worse, to Merlin. Soon there'd be a myriad questions asked and there wasn't one Arthur could think of that he wanted to answer.

In a way the fact that one of the rugby lads addressed him saved Arthur from making a big knob of himself. He got drawn into conversation and Arthur found out at least three things. The lads's names were Percy and Geraint. They were keen about sports, if their one-note talk hadn't advertised that. And they'd met Gwaine when he'd tried to play in a match that didn't end well for him. “Should've seen him,” said Geraint, “he lost a tooth and got a cracked rib for his pains.”

“Yeah.” Percy winced rather amiably, considering. “He did.”

Arthur found himself talking sports with them. He'd been an amateur fencer in his school days and through uni. He'd only given up after... everything that had happened. So he found some middle ground with the pair, who asked him about his old training regimen and feats. He found himself talking and relaxing.

He did feel eyes on him but he didn’t turn so as not to dispel the pleasant feeling.

As they chatted they went over mains and by the time Arthur had warmed to the subject they were having dessert. 

“Mary's best,” said Gwaine contentedly. “Cinnamon and chocolate cake.”

Arthur looked up to meet Merlin's eyes across the table. Merlin quickly looked elsewhere but that single glance made Arthur forget about the conversation he'd had going with Percy and Geraint. 

Dessert was dealt with quickly because most of them were stuffed by the time it rolled around. Except by Gwaine, who simply stated, “I'm a man for excess.”

Afterwards they all moved into the drawing room, small talk reigning supreme now that some of them were in their cups and not able to delve into deep subjects. 

Gareth was the only one not content with the amount of alcohol he'd thus far imbibed. He rang the bell at least three times before midnight to be given more servings. He was also mixing drinks, which would probably give him the mother of all hangovers in the morning.

Even Gwaine raised an eyebrow at that, saying, “Now, uncle, I'm not the type to rain on anyone's parade and I appreciate a nice stiff drink myself, but that's a bit much, isn't it?” 

Gareth hiccuped.

Gwaine made a joke of it, “I won't be carrying you upstairs, you know.”

Gareth ignored his nephew and got himself another drink, his arm draped around Alana The Bridesmaid. 

Mr Prince's lip curled up in disgust at Gareth's antics. Leon salvaged that situation when he scuttled over to engage Mr Prince in conversation. 

Gwaine sighed in apparent relief at the save, casting his eyes round the room for Vivian, who was deep in conversation with Gwen.

This was when Merlin rose and said, “Well, I love you, guys, but I'm knackered. So, I'm going to head upstairs to see if I can get some shut eye.” 

He said his good-byes, the people who knew him patting his back or trading a few jokes with him before he ducked out. Those who didn’t, watched him file out with disinterested or wondering expressions. Arthur watched the now vacated doorway, Lancelot, Leon and Gwaine's eyes on him.

For some reason, perhaps the fact that he'd drunk some and he got maudlin when he did, he found that he couldn't bear their scrutiny, their knowledge. He let a minute or so pass in silence and then left too, saying it had been a long day.

He got much the same reception as Merlin, apart from Gareth who looked at him knowingly, as if he thought Arthur was up to something relating to Merlin. As if he was heading out to get some. The man had no idea. No idea about him and Merlin at all, the dickhead. His overbearing mock camaraderie, as if he'd found a kindred spirit in Arthur, irritated Arthur beyond belief. It was something Arthur would have gladly stamped out of him with his knuckles.

Before he could punch Gwaine's relative in the nose, Arthur stiffly marched out. Without knowing how he'd got there, he found himself on the first floor landing, face heated, fists close to his chest. He ran into Merlin who was carrying a jug of water, having probably been to the kitchens to get it.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasped softly. This was their first exchange tonight. 

“Arthur.” Merlin looked to the stairs as if they were a source of safety. It was painful. Knowing that Merlin'd rather not even acknowledge him and would seek to cut their meeting as short as possible squeezed the breath out of him. It made even moving or thinking a hardship. As if everything was covered in a pall, bearing him down. 

“Merlin, I…” He reached out completely involuntarily, old habits dying hard. He'd meant to say lots of things. He'd even rehearsed this on the way over to Hertfordshire, if he was honest with himself. But now the words didn't want to come and got jumbled in his brain. “I think--”

“Arthur,” said Merlin, looking and sounding so pained Arthur wanted to staunch the wound whichever way he could. “I can't say I didn't suspect you’d be here. I knew you would be.”

“Me too,” said Arthur though he wouldn't have chosen the word 'suspect'. It made everything sound worse.

“And I decided the event was too important to put myself first.” Merlin met Arthur's gaze then, showing him wells of emotion that weren't hidden at all. “But I don't think I can make small talk. I don't think...” Merlin’s chest heaved in an attempt to seek air. His eyes softened all at once, encopmassing Arthur in a way Arthur would have mistaken for love if Merlin’s words hadn’t meant the exact contrary. “I don't think I can bear it. You. Sharing the same space as you and act like...”

Arthur took a step towards Merlin. Merlin's hand went to the banister for support, his wedding band shining in the light. “Merlin, perhaps, perhaps we could talk, so that it doesn't have to be like this.”

Merlin worried his lip almost bloody. “For Gwaine?”

Arthur shook his head ‘no’. He needed to be completely honest with Merlin. “No, for us.” He saw how that might be interpreted, considered the ring, and quickly corrected himself. “To put this into the past, to get to live a better life.”

Merlin studied him. “I don't think we can erase...” He gestured emphatically. “... that mess up.”

“You never let me explain, not really,” Arthur rushed out, another excuse, another step closer. Merlin's proximity made his heart remember and beat fast. “Not after that first night when it was all so raw. And I wanted you to see, to understand, so that...”

Merlin fetched a deep sigh. “And you think I would have understood? After what happened?”

“I don't know,” Arthur said, hand on the same banister as Merlin's. “I don't know what I thought...”

“I wouldn't have understood,” said Merlin. “You probably think me a better person than I am.”

“Never,” said Arthur. “You,” he said in a painful rush of sincerity. “You're the best person I've ever met.”

Merlin's smile was wan and thin. “Assuming that were the case, and I don't think it is, how do you know that I haven't changed? That I haven't become a person I hate?”

Arthur stuck his jaw out in plain refusal to accept that. It was more or less the same question he'd asked himself. What if Merlin had morphed into an unrecognizable being, someone Arthur couldn't even begin to know. He didn't want to dwell on that thought but knew deep down that Merlin might have changed but not become a bad man. “I think you're way stronger than that.”

Merlin gave a short hoot at that. “I wouldn't have understood,” Merlin told him. “Because I loved you like mad. Like mad. So I wouldn't have.”

Back then Merlin had let him understand that he loved him and Arthur had known it deep in his bones too with the kind of knowledge you don't poke at because the magnitude of the thing is scary. But hearing it now was more of a joy and like torture all combined than he would have thought possible. 

On the one hand there was the happiness of not having being mistaken, of having had a thing like that. On the other there was the truth of its loss, hitting home with a strength he'd believed quelled by six years of living his life as it came, day to day.

“Merlin, I--”

“I don't think I want to hear it,” said Merlin. “I-- I need to be like this. For myself. But I want to be there for Gwaine and for Vivian, so let's agree to not talk about it. To...”

“Act like strangers?” Arthur prompted, the words managing to bypass the knot in his throat. 

“Maybe?” asked Merlin tiredly, stooping like an old man. “If being polite and never alluding to the past is that then ‘yes’.”

Arthur could give Merlin that. “All right.”

“I'm glad---” Merlin brought a hand to his forehead. “No, that's not true. There's no way I'm glad about any of this, but that's the best I think I can manage for both you and Gwaine.” He took a breath, a shallow one this time. “I'm so sorry.” The hurt eyes told Arthur he was more than merely sorry. “I really, really am, Arthur.” So saying, he pattered up the stairs, not giving Arthur a chance to say more.

Maybe there wasn't anything more they could say or do.

 

**** 

 

“So,” Merlin asked, “how do I prove myself today?”

Catrina smiled at him both benevolently and condescendingly. “You don't need to prove yourself, Merlin.”

Merlin slipped both hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. “I want to show them that I can be good at this job.”

Catrina placed a hand on his arm, a gesture Merlin read as the more professional take on pinching cheeks. “You are our best intern irrespective of who your boyfriend is. We've learnt to appreciate your enthusiasm even if you're dating the boss' son.”

“I don't want people to think I'm here because of that.” Merlin wanted her to see where he stood on this even though she seemed to float in quite a different universe from him, being as she was, a successful forty-something professional and not a uni kid with an odd sense of pride. “Journalism's my passion and I hope they saw that when they went for me.”

“I'm sure Uther Pendragon is not the kind of man who looks into which uni kids get to intern at his paper.”

Merlin hoped so too. This was going to be one of the greatest opportunities of his life and if he got a recommendation from his temporary employers maybe this could become his future. And Merlin longed for that with all his heart. Not wanting to run ahead of himself he asked, “So how am I going to prove myself today?”

Catrina said, “Follow me,” and Merlin went after her, bypassing the crowded newsroom and trotting down a long sterile corridor. She opened a door where two computers and a boatload of shelves were, the latter almost bent double under the weight of old fashioned binders and various other papers. “How about filing old documents and digitalising them?” she asked.

Merlin made a bit of a face at the sheer amount of stuff contained in the room but rolled his sleeves up both metaphorically and literally, wanting to prove that he was going to do everything he was told in the most efficient way possible, however long it took. Wanting to prove he had the chops to intern there. “Brilliant,” he said. “Everything's going to be ordered and backed up and sorted out and indexed and alphabetised...”

Catrina's lips twitched. “I'll leave you to it.”

Before beginning, Merlin texted Arthur, making it known that he'd be working late that day.

 _Shame_ , the return text read, _wanted you back to have v. wicked way with you._

Merlin grinned and set out to work.

**** 

That night Arthur slept fitfully and at times not at all, thoughts of Merlin and of his past keeping him up till very late and chasing him right into his dreams. 

Having fallen asleep when the sun was almost up, Arthur inevitably woke much later than he'd ever allowed himself to, breakfast time long over, the sun well up in the sky and flooding his room.

No errant sun beam had woken him per se. It had rather been the giggles coming from down the corridor outside, followed as they had been by Gareth's sonorous, “I'll catch you, you naughty thing.”

Arthur scrubbed a tired hand down his face and smacked his lips together, cursing Gareth's horniness and mid-life crisis both. Couldn’t he have indulged in the latter quietly?

Still, perhaps having been woken wasn't too bad. On any ordinary day he'd have been up and about much earlier. It was just that he felt like shit. Still, if he didn't want to be a bigger slob than Gwaine he ought to get up and get a move on. Reluctantly, he pulled back the covers and pattered into the en-suite, trusting a shower would fully wake him up. 

It did fire up his brain again at the very least. Refreshed, a towel slung low on his hips, he wandered back into the bedroom proper. There he poured himself a glassful of water, which he drank avidly as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Aside from what Gwaine had said about looking more mature, had he changed? And what had Merlin seen yesterday when he'd set eyes on him? Was he as struck by the force of what had been as Arthur was? Did he still want Arthur despite the way he hurt as Arthur did Merlin? Arthur didn’t believe you could turn attraction off just like that. If it had been there, then there was no reason for it not to be there anymore, at least at a very basic level. Not unless the changes in the other person were minimal at surface level.

Arthur didn't think he was much different as far as looks went, but as for the rest he knew that he wasn't the same person he'd been at twenty-two. He'd stopped being that person right after the debacle. 

His throat worked and he put down his glass, taking his eyes off the mirror.

A headache starting, he decided he needed to take something for it. He had to get something to eat to pad his stomach first though. He was sure the cook would find him some food even though everybody else had already breakfasted.

With this thought in mind, he dressed quickly in jeans and a light blue shirt and made his way down, not encountering any other guest.

Quick on his feet, he crossed the hall and wended his way towards the back of the house, pushing the door leading to what had been the servants quarters in the old days. The different status of those who'd haunted this part of the house was advertised by the fact that the marble surfaces and wainscoted panels gave way to shoulder high tiles and plain whitewash. The floor was older and creakier than it was in other parts of the mansion too. 

As Arthur rounded a narrower corridor he remembered from his boyhood, new noises joined those caused by his footfall. For a few seconds Arthur couldn't place them because they were muffled by the old oven column that separated the corridor from the kitchen space proper. Since he hadn't categorised those noises, he steamed on to be treated by a view he found a little surprising to say the least.

Opposite an array of cereal piled on the counter top, a dark haired woman was sitting, floral plaited skirt rucked up, hands behind her to prop her up. A big man whose bulging biceps told the tale of his identity, was on his knees, crouching between her legs. He was eating her out. And she was moaning, emitting loud gasps, one closer to the other, that told Arthur she was about to come.

Arthur barked a cough, wanting to retreat quickly but before he could two things happened. Percival – for it could only be Percival – moved, affording Arthur a view of pubic hair and glistening folds he blamed himself for having caught an eyeful of. He should have made politeness the better part of valour and scurried off before this happened but surprise had frozen his muscles. And Merlin opened the door opposite, skidding to a halt when he saw the cook, Percy and Arthur arrayed in the kitchen.

The words, “A hot cup of coffee and a cold glass of orange juice are all I need before I get out of your...” died on his lips. He went red from neck to hairline and Arthur, who'd been meaning to decamp as swiftly as possible, stood rooted to the spot, looking at him.

A slew of memories came over him, all defined by a common denominator: Merlin's blushes. Merlin blushing when Morgana said that he was beautiful the first time they'd met. Merlin blushing when Arthur had put his mouth to his throat for the first time ever. Merlin blushing when Arthur's father had run into them necking on the stairs. Merlin blushing over a birthday present worth two quid because it was 'the most special thing I've ever had'.

Arthur could have gone on picturing instances of Merlin's blushes if the cook – Mary, he remembered – hadn't jumped up and shrieked and if Merlin hadn't grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out. 

Arthur followed without complaint, and not just because of the embarrassment factor involved in catching two people going at it, though that counted too. He would have followed anywhere because Merlin was touching him for the first time in six years, leading him down the hallway Arthur had come from and back into the lobby. 

They were both panting hard and only stopped when they reached the foot of the stairs. Merlin let go of him and Arthur mourned the loss.

Pink cheeked, Merlin sat on the lowest step, heel of his hand pressed against his forehead, shaking his head. “God,” he said. “God, I've never been so...” His shoulders started shaking with soft laughter. “You should have seen your face, Arthur,” he said. “It was just... And then she screamed and then Percy was all befuddled too.”

Arthur only heard the way Merlin had said his name, easy and familiar, as if it always rolled off his tongue just like that, day in, day out. Arthur couldn't help but reach a hand out towards him, wanting it to be true with everything he had. He'd have touched Merlin too if the shaking of his shoulders hadn't changed in quality. 

At first Arthur only took stock of the difference but then he realised Merlin was stifling sobs, pushing the back of his hands against both eyes, fringe skimming his fingers. He wasn't crying as such, but he was near tears definitely. Worse, he sounded broken, and Arthur didn't know why and what to do about it.

“Merlin,” he said, tentatively sitting down next to him.

Merlin snuffled. “I don't know why I do this to myself, really.” 

“Is it me?” Arthur asked, “Do you want me gone? I can tell Gwaine something urgent came up.”

Merlin's chest caved inwards before he expelled a puff of air. “No, it's not just you, Arthur. It wouldn't be right to chase you away from this when you have as much of a right to be here as me.”

“If it helped...” Arthur paused. “God, Merlin, did I mess up your whole life?”

Merlin craned his necks towards him. “No,” he said. “No. No one messed my life but me.”

“But I--”

“You made your choice, Arthur,” Merlin said wearily. “I made mine. Maybe in a perfect world we could have met in the middle. But we didn't. Still, that one thing was what it was. It still isn't the reason why I was---”

Arthur was sure Merlin would have explained but a car parked in the driveway and guests spilled out into the hall, boisterous and laughing, asking after, “Dear Viv.”

Merlin picked himself up and said he thought he might know where Vivian was. “I'll show you,” he told them.

Thus Arthur missed on the opportunity to clear things up with Merlin.

 

**** 

The light shed by the computer screen not being enough anymore, Merlin turned on the light on the desk. 

It gave off a harsh, pale and bright light to the point Merlin thought he'd better click it off if he didn't want to be blinded. Then again it was getting dark outside and his eyes were already strained, making out the print a little more difficult than it had been five hours ago. 

He tipped up the reflector so the light wouldn't spill directly on the documents he was reading, blinding him to their contents. 

Despite this little ruse, he blinked, eyes so, so tired. He passed his hand across his brow to mop up the sweat that had gathered there and expelled a breath. It was a trick he'd developed over long uni cramming session. It helped steady him.

Labour conditions improved, he bent down and pulled out the top desk drawer, reaching inside for the fresh folders he'd put aside. He cast the folder itself aside and put the sheaf of papers that had been contained within it in the small circle of light that fell indirectly on the desk. 

He started skimming the documents and that's when he noticed the same code popping out again next to a transcription of something that Merlin wasn't sure was an interview. For one no questions had been recorded and for another the abbreviated tags within the quotes indicated that what Merlin was reading was a conversation.

Merlin hesitated over digitalising the transcript as it stood, fingers hovering over his computer keyboard. Instead he picked up one of the notebooks he'd stacked next to the computer and copied the reference number. And moved on to the next file. This too was full of transcripts and next to them was another filing code, same source numbers as the one before, only the last two ciphers changing. 

This was odd but clearly part of a filing system. Yet if they already had trancripts of these old articles and material, why had they set Merlin to work on re-digitalising the old archive? 

It made little sense, especially since there was no official mention of any archive destined for files older than 2003. And this wasn't just a quirk of one single reporter who might have a personal filing system. No, it covered articles and input from more than a single employee, barring freelancers. 

Merlin continued on, looking for more of those codes. By midnight he had more than twenty-two reference numbers, spanning different contributors and content area. 

Merlin's phone buzzed with an incoming text: _suppose you stood me up._ It came from Arthur's number.

Without getting his eyes off the files he was reading, Merlin texted blindly. _Sorry, still working._ And continued on till he had a whole page filled with codes and truncated reference transcripts. 

Merlin needed to find the audio files.

Arthur texted him again. _they will still think u the best intern ever even if u sleep now and again._

Merlin would have smiled at that except he'd set his mind on finding those recordings. So he turned his mobile off, and dug around. 

Nothing that could be classed as any form of audio back up was in this room but he felt sure that if he went into the basement and rooted a bit he'd find the recordings. 

He was careful to lock the door behind him as he went in search of a lift, notepad clutched tight. 

The security guard, used to seeing him around these days, waved him on, saying, “Another late night? You work more than those paid for it.”

Merlin shrugged that off. “I want to become one of those people.”

“The pay, I'm told, isn't _that_ good.” The guard tapped the side of his nose.

Merlin said, “I'm not doing this for the pay,” and ducked into the lift headed down before he could be told he was just another idealistic kid. 

Merlin hunted the basement archive until he stumbled into a cardboard box labelled with two of the codes he'd copied down. He blew dust off it and opened it to find a couple of CDs in their cases. This was it then. Maybe those two CDs were only the tip of the iceberg, but Merlin would surely have time to find the rest. In the meanwhile he could listen to these for the missing parts of the transcripts. 

Hugging the box to his chest, Merlin made it back to the third floor, where the office he'd been assigned to originally was, and opened it, locking himself in so he wouldn't be disturbed.

Hands all sweaty, he pushed the CD into the tray and loaded it. 

As he listened, he realised he was overhearing a phone conversation that came complete with clicking sounds and lots of rustling. This was no interview. More, the persons recorded seemed to be unaware that their conversation was being taped. The persons involved seemed to name names that were quite hot stuff as far as the world of politics was concerned and too liberally for Merlin to think they were making a clean breast of it for posterity. The first scrap of conversation was too short for Merlin to tell who was involved but the second one began with, a, “Muirden speaking,” that put things into perspective.

God, this was a minister's private secretary and that conversation was by no means of a private nature. Worse, it mentioned less than legal shenanigans involving party members that had never made it to the press. Merlin was trembling by the time he loaded the second CD.

**** 

 

After Merlin had gone to help Gwaine's guests, Arthur repaired to his room. He stayed in there for the best part of an hour alternately pacing and sitting down, trying to decide whether he should go and look for Merlin to prompt some further opening up on his part or let him be, hoping he'd feel better about whatever had shaken him.

Knowing neither solution was strictly possible – he'd become a stranger but couldn't forget Merlin's pain – but also feeling he should let Merlin take his time to work out his issue, he decided to go down again and seek out some kind of distraction. 

He met Leon on the stairs. He was wearing a polo and shorts, a racket bag over one shoulder. 

“Fancy a game?” Leon asked and Arthur thought that a match would occupy him till lunch time when maybe he'd see Merlin again.

Both Leon and he played to win. They chose to go for best of four, Arthur going for a hard game, hitting balls harder and closer to the line, while Leon was being cagier about his tactics, putting spokes in Arthur's wheels so Arthur couldn't play a decent middle game. 

While Arthur used his fitness levels, Leon used his brains and got the most consistent midfield shots.

Much like Leon, Arthur sought out his opponent's weaker side. It came up when he was at the net or when he couldn’t manage to sprint forwards as fast as Arthur. Compared to his uni days, Leon was slower, getting winded earlier in the game, his face a ripe red when Arthur shot a volley. 

Arthur used that to his best advantage, trying risky winners and changing his game ever so deceptively so he was surprising Leon at every turn. 

He kept Leon guessing and Arthur could see Leon didn't have a read on him. Which was how he managed to win, by a set. 

He and Leon shook hands over the net. Panting, Leon said, “Well, I see I need to hit the gym more often.”

Competitive spirit curbed now that he had won, Arthur said, “Well, your backhand crosscourt is great, so nothing to be ashamed of. You had me sweating there.”

Leon smiled. “And you have a killer forehand.” He bumped his racket against his shin. “Now how about going in to get something to eat? These days I need a full meal to withstand this kind of challenge.”

Arthur wanted nothing better and not just because he'd skipped breakfast. Therefore he was quick to go back to his room to have a shower and change. He was back down again in a matter of less than half an hour, inclusive of the time taken to make all his way back from the tennis court, which had been built where the formal gardens had used to be in past centuries. In short, a way off from the main house.

However he didn't see Merlin at all. Instead he was tackled by Percival. “Look,” he said, not quite meeting Arthur's eyes but clamping a hand around his arm. “I know you don't know me but I need to ask you something.”

Arthur lifted his shoulders politely to signal he was listening. “Shoot.”

“I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea of Mary,” Percy said. “She's a great girl and not... She's a lusty girl but not...”

“Percy,” Arthur hurried to say, “You really don't need to explain. It was none of my business. And I'm sorry if my chancing upon you made either of you uncomfortable.”

Percy's tight features relaxed. “You didn't. But Mary is very sensitive and she wouldn't want this kind of stuff known about her. Especially, since she was at work, though between duties.”

“I see that,” Arthur said, conciliating. 

“It's good to agree.” Percy shifted his weight like a lumbering giant. “So I'd be very grateful if you could avoid mentioning the...” Colour climbed up to his cheeks. “The thing you saw.”

Arthur put a hand on his heart. “I swear I won't.”

“You swear you won't what?” Gwaine, newly arrived from wherever he'd been, clapped him on the back, leading him towards the table. 

Percy tensed, becoming one big ball of muscles no one in their right minds would ever want to face. “Nothing,” Arthur said, “I was just mentioning how I wouldn't underestimate the importance of rugby to British sports.”

The dining room filled and they all took seats around the table. “Ah, Percy,” said Gwaine, kissing the arriving Vivian, “a man after my own fashion. He has one big cause and will fight for it to the death.”

Percy winced and took a seat at the table. 

Vivian asked, “And what's yours, dear?”

To which Gwaine replied, “Why, you, naturally. You needn't even ask.” Vivian swatted him on the chest, Gwaine caught her hand and kissed it, going all smoulder-eyed on her. 

Vivian laughed. “I love your Valentino improv.” This remark fired Gwaine more than the giggles of his audience. He kissed Vivian square on the lips, opening her mouth in a pretty filthy snog. There were hoots and shouts and catcalls but Arthur couldn't say he was paying much attention to his friends' antics. 

He was looking for Merlin, remembering that he'd been upset, envisioning scenarios for why he hadn't come down that weren't put a stop to by succeeding events. The butler came in with the soup. 

“Why,” Gareth said as it was being ladled into his plate. “My nephew has grown stingy.”

Alana, the girl Arthur kept dubbing as The Bridesmaid for simplicity's sake, said, “Shush, Gareth, there's going to be a big banquet tomorrow. Soup is healthy.”

Gareth scowled at Alana. “Do you mean to say I'm not healthy because I have a few years on you?”

Alana's eyes widened, evidently thrown aback, “No, I--”

“Because I'll have you know I'm still fitter than anybody in the room.”

Everybody looked at their plate, but for Arthur, who had his eyes on the door.

Someone came through it, but it wasn't the person Arthur had been looking for. It was a member of Gwaine's staff. “A call for Mr du Lac,” he announced.

Lancelot took his napkin off his legs, balled it up on the table and filed out, Gwen's eyes following him.

Before small talk could resume, Arthur asked, “Anybody know where Merlin is?”

“No,” said Gwaine, Vivian and Leon. Gwen was too distracted to say anything and Arthur didn't think any of the other guests cared. 

Arthur could have left it at that but, remembering Merlin's shaking shoulders, he ploughed on. “I think he was a little upset this morning, so I wanted to find him to make sure he was all right.” He kept it vague, not mentioning the fact that Merlin had nearly cried. It was too private.

Vivian threw a knowing look at Gwaine and Gwaine shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps we shouldn't have, after all,” he said cryptically.

It wasn't the first time since his stay at the Hall had begun that Gwaine had been less than crystal clear about Merlin. Initially, Arthur had thought he was being so to spare them the pain of evoking a distressing event, one that had caused a sad concatenation of events. For both him and Merlin. But now Arthur wasn't so sure that was strictly the case. 

He felt as though some piece of knowledge was being withheld from him. An important piece of knowledge. Maybe he had no right to ask for it. Surely, he had forfeited that right the moment he'd made his choice, but still he wanted nothing more than to make up for the damage he'd caused. He shifted his gaze from Gwaine to Vivian, to Leon. Their eyes were less than clear, their bodies turned inwards or, in Gwaine and Vivian's case, towards each other.

“Would you please tell me what's going on?” he asked. 

Nobody answered, Vivian tinkering with the glasses, Gwaine looking at him and then at the window behind him.

“Oh come on,” he said, clutching the table cloth. “I know you know what went down. For Christ's sake you can't tell me you think I asked so I could hurt Merlin.”

“I don't think that!” said Gwaine. “But Merlin's a mate.”

“And how does this stop you from telling me whatever it is you're keeping from me?”

Vivian took over from Gwaine. “See,” she said, “I think what Gwaine wants to say is that he wants to be loyal to Merlin.”

“I don't understand,” said Arthur, blinking in confusion. 

“Gwaine,” Vivian continued, a few lines forming on her brow, “thinks that he should keep Merlin's secrets. Not that Merlin has ever mentioned them being a secret, but maybe, Gwaine thinks they are all the same?” Vivian's frown deepened. “I don't really think I understand Gwaine's logic but I'm sure it's that.”

“So you think I'd betray Merlin's trust?”

Leon cleared his throat. “Nobody here thinks you'd willingly do such a thing, Arthur.”

“Do we even care?” asked Gareth, tipping his knife against his glass in a bid to obtain more wine. 

“But you think I'll end up doing it?” Arthur turned his eyes on each of his old friends in turn. The other guests didn't know what was going on and, aside from Gareth, kept out of it.

Gwaine put an elbow on the table and rested his face on his hand. He waved his free hand. “I'm sure you don't want to. And I'm sure the same set of circumstances won't present itself again, but it's part of both yours and Merlin's track record.”

“I swear,” said Arthur, knowing he'd hit on something, “that I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than hurt Merlin.”

“Aww,” said Vivian a little too lightly for Arthur's tastes. “That's so sweet.” She turned towards Gwaine. “I think we should tell him.”

“Yes, do,” piped in Leon.

Gwaine scratched at the scruff on his chin. “You sure? Merlin could have told him himself. So if he hasn't...”

Leon argued that point. “Has he asked you not to mention it to him?”

“No.”

“Then tell him,” said Leon. “I think Arthur means well and maybe it'll do Merlin good.”

Gwaine straightend, tossing his hair back. “All right then.” He fixed his eyes on Arthur. “Merlin married a girl called Freya a couple of years ago.”

Arthur pressed his fingers against the stem of his glass. “I saw the wedding ring, you know? I realised that he wasn't wearing one just for fun.”

“No,” said Gwaine, “but it isn't a happy-happy thing either.”

Arthur kinked up his eyebrow at the choice of words. “I'm not sure I'm getting what you're saying, Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighed. “Merlin did get married and that was a happy occasion. But his wife died eight months ago.”

“They had little more than a year,” Vivian said, taking Gwaine's hand in hers. He looked at her, surprised at the gesture but then gazed back to Arthur. “See, it's a sad story. We didn't think he'd want it advertised.”

“Now that the sob story is over can we get more wine?” Gareth asked. “And getting a second course would be good too.”

Arthur pushed his chair back, surrendering his napkin. “I think I need to talk to Merlin. If you would excuse me.”

Gwen and Vivian made concerned eyes and Gwaine emitted a low-level grunt that Arthur read as, 'Do as you please but I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

Arthur left the room before he could hear the comments of the other guests as to his actions. 

Leon and Gwaine knew most of the truth but they wouldn't fuel any speculation. It was clear that Vivian and Gwen were aware of something via their boyfriends, but Arthur thought both of them unlikely to gossip. 

Vivian might be an overblown romantic, as if she was one of the heroines in her own films, but didn't sound like the type. And Gwen seemed reasonable and steady, a believer in feelings, if her few remarks on love were anything to by. So she wouldn't pry. But the others were an unknown cipher so Arthur opted to get out of there before the curiosity circus began. 

Having no idea as to where Merlin might have holed himself into, he searched half the whole property. He searched the manor house itself. It had after all a library, billiard room and a conservatory that might reasonably have enticed Merlin. But Merlin was in none of those places, so Arthur widened the scope of his search. He walked down the drive, made a tour of the tennis courts and searched the part of the garden that had survived the renovations. 

Still no Merlin. Arthur was in half a mind to go back to the house and knock on the door to Merlin's room when he decided to take an alternate path that would lead him to the back of the house. Merlin might have wondered off in that direction and even if Arthur didn't find him along the yew-bordered walks he would still cut on the time needed to get back to the mansion. 

The walk cut diagonally through the grounds.

Mid way up the gravel walk he found Merlin. He was sitting on a half dilapidated bench that was more of a plank than anything else. Behind it was an overgrown bush, bright berries hanging from the branches. In front of him the boughs of a yew arched over the walk, making the path narrower and more picturesque.

Merlin was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, his palms on his knees. He was staring in the direction of the tree trunk in front though Arthur wasn't sure he was seeing what was directly ahead of him. 

Gravel crunching under his feet, Arthur plodded up to Merlin. “Can I sit here?”

Merlin cocked his head upwards, the tendons in his neck stretching. “It's a free bench. Well, a free bench on private property.”

Arthur hitched his trousers up and sat. The wood creaked. “But maybe you wanted to be alone.” He paused. “Or selectively so.”

“No,” said Merlin. “I don't think I should. I know when I shouldn't. And I’m not on a mission to deliberately hurt you.”

Arthur raised his shoulders up to his ears and bowed his head. “It's up to you, really. I don't want to force your hand. I can get you Gwaine, or anyone else. If you want to talk to them.”

Merlin turned his head. Arthur felt he was being studied. “You know, don't you?”

“In their defence,” said Arthur cradling his hands over his knees. “I insisted.”

“It's not a secret.” Merlin pushed his shoe against a wildflower growing close to the bench's legs. He watched it tip. “And I never asked them to keep silent.”

“So you got married,” said Arthur biting on his tongue as soon as he had. 

“Did you think I never would?” Merlin asked. He didn't sound derisive or angry. His was an earnest question, as if he was trying to figure out what it was that Arthur thought about him. 

“No, I--” Arthur said. “There was a little part of me that believed you were still... mine, somehow. But it's not me I wanted to talk about. It was you.”

Merlin shrugged. “It's been a while since she died.”

“Doesn't seem like it to me, Merlin.”

Merlin shifted on the bench. “What do you want me to say?” Merlin's voice had grown lower.

“The truth,” Arthur said. “Or nothing at all, if you wish. But lying to me or to yourself won't help.”

“You always said I was a bad liar.”

“Merlin.” Arthur turned his body towards him so they were facing each other. “Why did you get upset earlier today? Something that reminded you of your wife?”

“I felt guilty,” Merlin said, confusing Arthur. What could Merlin feel guilty about? “And then jealous of Percy and Mary’s happiness.”

Arthur's brows crossed together. “I'm not getting it. Not the guilt.”

Merlin breathed in. “Guilt is a strange thing, you know. It doesn't have to be rational. I don't think it was rational at all. But I felt it. I felt my stomach twist with it.”

“But--”

Merlin's eyes softened. “There I was, laughing at the awkwardness of catching Gwaine's friend and the cook together. And you should have seen your face and it felt good.”

“So you felt guilty because you thought you shouldn't be happy.”

Merlin gave a short chuckle. “I know I should be. I know Freya would want me to be. But she's dead and she can't be happy anymore.” Merlin inhaled sharply. “That's not fair.”

“No,” Arthur nodded his head thoughtfully. He didn't think it was. “And I'm sorry. Though I'd be a hypocrite if I said that it wasn't about you being unhappy. You deserve to be. After.” He waved his palm about in a gesture that was meant to encompass the past.

“Don't act as if it was all your fault,” Merlin said. “You were between a rock and a hard place.”

“Yes.” Arthur's thoughts went back to the day everything went to hell. “But not having been the one to do it doesn't make me any the less...” He weighed his words. Much of his life after had been shaped by that event and he'd learnt since to acknowledge everything about himself. “Guilty.”

“I could have gone about it differently;” Merlin said, voice lilting as though to make a question of his statement. “I thought about it, later on.”

“And compromise yourself?” Arthur laughed that to scorn. “You would have ended up hating me even more.”

The wind rose; Merlin scooted closer. It seemed to be an instinct, one that Arthur welcomed because it allowed him to feel him by his side. “I only hated you for a short while. And only because I thought that what you did meant that you didn't feel like I did. Just as much as I did. So I let myself hate you to get back at you.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin's hand, fingers nearly slotting together before he let go. “I never did not love you, you know. I just didn't know what to do.” 

**** 

Merlin had always found nights in the city poetic. When he was out at night and everybody else was asleep, he always looked up to spot any twinkling star that would make it past the halo of pollution that encircled the city. 

Tonight he didn't look up. He stood within the bus shelter’s confines, neck buried in his upturned collar, fists in coat's pockets. He flexed his legs to keep away the cold, bouncing on the soles of his feet while he waited for his bus.

Time warped around him, speeding past, his thoughts whirling in a jumble that made his temples pound. Time flew by so quickly that he was surprised by sound of the bus shuddering to a halt. 

Merlin hopped on, walking down the aisle up to a free seat. He got his rucksack off his back and settled it on his knee, clutching it tight. 

He leant his head against the window, ignoring the couple snogging one seat over, watching the glaring head-lights from oncoming cars as they lit the inside of the bus. A light rain started, causing a swishing sound to hit Merlin's ears as drops pattered down the glass.

The engine's thrum reverberated from under his feet, in a steady drone that became more strained when the bus climbed up an incline. 

Merlin sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into his thoughts, more able to put them into perspective now that he wasn't so cold. There was no way he was mistaken, none. Even Professor Taliesin had agreed when Merlin had described his findings. And the man had won a Pulitzer. 

So Merlin was right. What he'd heard backed him up. Now the problem was of a different nature, a moral one. Merlin hugged his rucksack tighter.

He stayed sitting there for he didn't know how long, staring out, avoiding meeting the eyes of the lone drunk that waddled on board at some point mid journey. 

When his eyes weren't slipping shut under the pressure of his headache, he kept his gaze on the dark road, trying to make out the hulking shadows of buildings that were familiar in the daylight and seemed like strange formations at night. Unpredictable, unfamiliar.

At last he recognised the neighbourhood as Arthur's. The wheezing of the bus brought him to his feet as did the shifting of gears and the gushing sound of brakes being put on. Clinging to the railing, Merlin hobbled to the door and jumped down.

Head lowered, he sped down the street and up to Arthur's building, heart in his throat. The night doorman recognised him but turned up his nose at him. “I haven't been warned of any visits,” he said, lip curling further when he saw that the hem of Merlin's jeans was all wet and that he'd left a trail of prints on the spotless marble flooring.

“It's a surprise visit,” said Merlin.

“Mr Pendragon--”

Merlin almost shouted, wanting to see Arthur now instead of having to quibble with the pretentious doorman. But he didn't. He wanted to get to talk to Arthur, needed to now more than ever, not get the police called on him for disturbing the quiet.

“Mr Pendragon will be happy to see me,” he said, hinting at why with a smile he didn't feel. 

The doorman let out a big breath though his eyes were as severe as ever. “All right, go up. Though it would be better if Mr Pendragon warned ahead when such nightly visits occur.”

Merlin didn't smile; he just ducked into the lift, pressing the button more insistently than he should have.

When Arthur opened the door, he was wearing nothing but tee and boxer shorts, his sleeping ensemble. “I need to talk to you,” Merlin said, pushing past him.

Arthur closed the door behind them. “Merlin, it's two o' clock? Not that I'm not happy to see you but I--”

Merlin cut him off. “I'm sorry. But I really need to discuss this,” he said, offering up his rucksack.

Arthur eyed him as though he thought Merlin had lost his mind. Which he probably had. “Has something happened? To you or your mum?”

“No,” said Merlin, dropping the rucksack Arthur had made no move to take from him. “We're both fine. But--” He hesitated, never having wanted to hurt Arthur ever. But there was no way he could keep him in the dark now. Not when he'd know anyway. “I made a few discoveries at the paper.”

Arthur smiled. “Something good? Did they offer you a job or something?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, and I wouldn't accept it if they had.”

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. “I thought that's what you’ve always wanted? To become a journalist.”

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Merlin said, “Not like this.”

“Is that because _News of the Day_ is a subsidiary of Pendragon Enterprises?” Arthur asked, bridging the distance between them and putting both hands on Merlin's shoulders. “Because I swear to God I didn't put in a good word to get you the internship. You did it all on your own.” He smirked. “Pendragon people are smart; we never let go of big potential once we've found it.”

Merlin steeled himself by breathing in, then he let the words roll out of his mouth. “No, Arthur, no. They're corrupt.”

“What!” Arthur's voice rose. “What the hell, Merlin?”

“The way they get their news, the things they know... They're spying on people and it’s not just tele-lense, paparazzo-style spying. They have people's phones bugged. Records of private conversations. Knowledge of crimes committed. They’re sitting on material that could jail people, that could lend itself to blackmail. Stuff the police have no knowledge of.” He ran out of breath. “Some of that's made it out but most of it has been buried. I can think of only one way that stuff can be used…”

“What are you saying?”

“That reporters at News have a very peculiar way of being journalists, Arthur. They possess knowledge that can put pressure on politicians. Empower people and weaken others. What they're doing isn't even journalism anymore.”

“How do you know this?” Arthur's mouth had become a thin line.

“It wasn't even hidden, Arthur. Everything was on file, though the transcripts were shortened most of the time. I bet that when the police look into it...”

“The police?”

“Professor Taliesin, my thesis supervisor, said we must warn them. Says I'm sitting on something big.”

“And...” Arthur passed a hand over his forehead. “You have proof?”

“I made a couple of copies of the audio files I found, the light stuff,” said Merlin, picking up his rucksack and rifling inside it. “But I'll go back for more. My uni project broadcast is about my findings, Arthur. It'll be uploaded on line during the week. I had to tell you. I had to. So you can back out of Pendragon before the scandal touches you. I can give you days before I report this.”

“But my father will be implicated.”

Merlin touched Arthur for the first time, seeking his hand to hold. “He can't not know. Hell, he has to.”

“So he's got to sink with the paper,” said Arthur. His eyes became smaller, little slits Merlin found disconcerting. Because Arthur had never looked like that at him. “He's going to...”

“Probably face an inquiry,” said Merlin. “But with the stuff I've found on News, I think he should answer some questions.”

Arthur pushed him to the sofa, making him sit on the armrest. He placed a hand on Merlin's neck, cupping it. “Can't you bury this? Merlin, it's my father. And his media empire is the only thing he has. After my mum...”

Merlin shook his head, mouth gaping open. “I can't do that because there's no doubt that someone must answer for what is being done. The person with the power to give orders. The implications are too big to ignore them. And he won't be finished professionally. Not if he’s even remotely innocent. He'll just have to answer questions, as he's the responsible one.”

Arthur kissed his lips sweetly, breathing against his mouth. “Merlin, please. It's my father we're talking about. I swear I'll make him stop. If what you say is true...”

Merlin pushed Arthur away. “Do you doubt me?”

“No,” Arthur hastened to say. “I swear I don't. But this thing hurts. Because I can't believe my father capable of this.” Merlin privately thought Uther Pendragon capable of a lot of things as long as he could keep brushing shoulders with the powerful of this world. But he didn't say anything, wanting to respect Arthur's filial love. “But if it’s got out of hand, it’s got to stop. I'll make him stop. But Merlin...I doubt he can face this. You think he's strong, but he isn't. And his media corporation is his child.”

Merlin tried to smile. “You're his child, Arthur. Be there for him. The rest is him facing questions, and, yes, perhaps a scandal. But it's not as important as you.”

Arthur hummed his discontent. He wrapped a hand around Merlin's waist, put his chin on Merlin's shoulder and said, “What if I'm not enough?”

Merlin knew that there lay the rub. That Arthur loved his father while being convinced that he wasn't loved the same way. He hugged Arthur the tighter, while regretting being the one having to hurt him. Still, he couldn't bury the truth. He'd only skimmed the surface, he was sure, and much of what was going on was sure to have ramifications that went beyond mere illegality. “You can only be there for him. As for the rest,” Merlin said, “we'll face it as it comes.”

Arthur didn't nod or move much, evidently lost in a world of his own. Merlin couldn't blame him. Having to face such a revelation about your own father, and a father like Uther at that, couldn't be easy. It was more than a simple deontology problem. Trust was involved. And Arthur's trust had been broken.

“Come to bed,” he said. He made the offer because Merlin had never seen Arthur quite like this, so silent and tactile, clinging to Merlin for more than sex or fun. He was being different in a way Merlin couldn't quite put his finger on. 

When they went to bed that night, they lay side by side, facing each other, Arthur rubbing his thumbs all along Merlin's face while his eyes kept trailing every contour of Merlin's. To the point Merlin nearly hid his face in the pillow out of embarrassment, looking up from time to time. Arthur's eyes were no longer narrowed and shuttered, but wide and contemplative as he touched Merlin. 

There was a warmth in them that Merlin didn't always get to see. Because Arthur came with all sorts of preconceptions that made it harder to know what it was that he was feeling. Like he thought a perfect being shouldn't show much emotion, though his slipped through the cracks at times. Like now. Only now it was being more intense. As was the kiss that fired Merlin’s blood.

 

****

“I suppose that's just one way of putting it,” said Merlin, more distant, nostrils flaring.

“Merlin,” said Arthur. He'd tried to explain this once on the day of their big and messy break-up, but then it had been impossible to see past the way they were both hurt. “There's not a day I don't blame myself for what I did. Not a one. And not just for you. But for me. That wasn't the person I wanted to be.”

Merlin's head whipped around. “And don't you think I know that?” he asked, his tone mellowing on the final sounds. “I did know that and that was one of the big things that ate at me. Because I'd always thought you were this good person and I knew I'd forced your hand.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, putting his back to the increasing wind; it made the sleeves of his shirt puff and swell like sails. “I never wanted to break faith, but I did, and that's on me, not you.”

“I tried to tell myself that,” Merlin said. “I always thought that I should have known.” He scratched the side of his face. “I don't know, Arthur. But I took my portion of the blame once I stopped feeling as if I hated you.”

Arthur breathed in fast and sharp. That Merlin had hated him, even for a short while, hurt indescribably. Something he would never have banked on before proceeding on his plan. He'd foreseen heartache and loss. He'd known he'd never find the innocence he'd had with Merlin before the Daily News affair, and that he was sacrificing his heart plain and simple. But the level of hurt had been an unforeseen quantity he sometimes couldn't bear to think about. Wouldn't think about for fear of sinking like his father had.

Merlin shivered and Arthur said, “It's getting pretty damp around here; why don't we go inside to talk?”

Merlin stared ahead and Arthur added, “If you want to, that is.”

“No,” said Merlin, virtually jumping up like a jerky colt. “It's for the best.” He turned and faced Arthur. “When Gwaine invited me I thought I'd avoid you. But this is doing me good actually. I need to see what I couldn't back then. So, yeah, let's...” Merlin trembled in place. “Let's go talk.”

They retraced their steps by the same path Arthur used to get to the yew walk only in the inverse. A steady breeze had risen and it shook tree branches, making them sing and sough. Merlin led the way, hands thrust in his pockets, head tilted as if he was listening to the wind chanting. 

Arthur broke the silence. “Hopefully, the wind won't bring clouds with it. A rainy wedding would be sad and a bit of a nuisance.”

Merlin chuckled. “It rained on mine,” he said. “It was a fantastic day, even though we got drenched. And I was happy to the last day, so I think a bit of rain won't put Gwaine and Vivian at a disadvantage.”

Arthur smiled in a pained way. “I don't doubt that. I'm not so sure the guests will have cause to be happy if it rained though.”

“I'll give you that,” Merlin conceded, pushing the hall door open. A wry twist to his lips, he half winked at Arthur. Arthur remembered that complicit wink. Merlin had produced it for the first time the day he'd cut on his lessons to spend the whole morning in a coffee shop talking to Arthur. It had been the day they'd met. 

Arthur's heart expanded both with the memory and the effects of the gesture in the here and now. 

He followed Merlin up the stairs with no thought but to prolong their proximity. He'd thought it impossible but he believed there was a good chance they'd clear the air. That they'd be able to talk and not view each other as the most painful chapter in each other's lives. To be fair, Freya's death was most likely the most painful memory Merlin had, not the break-up with Arthur, though perhaps her death held no bitter associations with it.

Arthur didn't push for more words from Merlin, though he was preparing to ask him what he wanted to do now, when they heard the raised voices, forming themselves into near shouts. 

At first the words were unintelligible and the voices seemed like any other voices. For a moment Arthur entertained the thought that Gareth was having a row with his young new companion. The two had seemed to be skating around the edges of a fall out at table.

He had to admit he was taken aback when he put a name to the voices. Because it was Lancelot and Gwen. Arthur had never known Lance to raise his voice. He stopped in his tracks and his hand missed the banister. He nearly toppled backwards, but Merlin grabbed his sleeve and kept him steady, brushing his sleeve.

For a moment Arthur was lost in looking at Merlin from so up close, his eyes just as he remembered them, only different, more vivid, more real. Then the words became clear. 

“So you'd rather take that job?" Gwen asked, voice louder than she probably knew.

Lancelot's too was higher than his usual one. “Gwen, I'm still committed. We can marry next year instead of at the end of this one.”

Gwen sounded vey hurt when she said, “We were supposed to tell our friends now we’re all gathered together, Lance. But now I'm thinking you don't want the responsibility of marriage. I love your big heart but helping shouldn't always come first. And oh God.” Arthur heard the wood bow under his friends' weight. “I'm sounding like a horrible person for not wanting you to do your pro bono work, but I've been waiting so long and we've postponed this so many times, I'm starting to think you really don't want to. I don’t know what to think!”

“Gwen,” said Lancelot in a high, panicked, pleading tone, “it's not that. I swear, Gwen. But I am dissatisfied with my job, with sitting behind a desk when I could do much more on the field. We can still marry next year. We're still young. But I'll have made more of a difference then.”

“What you don't understand,” Gwen said, now tiredly, “is that things won't change. There'll always be someone in need of your help. And you'll always be moved by them. So where’s my place in this? How do I rate?”

It was so raw and there was such a weight of self doubt behind the words that Arthur felt ill listening to them. Merlin must have shared the feeling for his lips drooped into a downward swipe.

They exchanged looks and then instead of climbing the stairs to get to the second floor, Merlin pushed him into the side corridor branching out from the landing. 

Merlin's fingers were still around Arthur’s wrist when he pushed one of the doors open. It was a bedroom. Merlin let go of him and Arthur's eyes swept around the room. It was clearly occupied. There was a case open on the floor, most of the clothes still folded, though not properly, inside it. 

There was a laptop sitting on top of the dresser. The lights on told Arthur it was on stand-by. Jogging bottoms were thrown haphazardly over a chair and a pair of thick woollen socks lay piled on top of them.

Arthur grinned to himself, the discomfot generated by having involuntarily eavesdropped on his old friend easing. “This is your room, isn't it?”

Merlin came to stand head to head with him. “How did you guess?”

“The socks gave it away,” he deadpanned, making Merlin laugh. Arthur was startled and he drank the sounds coming from Merlin’s throat in like a man racked with thirst. It had been six years since he'd heard that laugh, its particular pitch and quality, or since he'd watched the laugh carry over to light up Merlin's eyes. 

He laughed too but he did it to cover up the punch to his heart Merlin was being. 

“I suppose they did,” Merlin said.

“Some things don't change.”

“No,” said Merlin, sitting on the bed. The covers swelled upwards at his sides and sighed back into place. “I don't think they do.”

“But you've changed,” said Arthur, clinging to that so he wouldn't fall in love all over again. So that he could survive this weekend and this wedding while knowing that once it was over he wouldn't see Merlin again. 

Merlin stopped absently kicking at the bedframe and his head snapped up. “In some things,” he said. “Yeah, I've... I don't know how to be happy any more. Freya made me promise that I would be. But I'm not sure I can keep that promise.”

Arthur gathered his courage and went to sit next to him, folding his hands together. He nervously twiddled his thumbs. “I can see why, but I'd have asked the same if I was her.” He licked his lips. “There's always been something about you, Merlin. They way you took everything that came at you with joy. Thinking that is gone is the most painful thing someone who knows and loves you could imagine or have to go through.” 

He looked at Merlin then, let everything he was feeling wash to the surface. He wasn't sure what manner of figure he was cutting, though he thought his eyes were a bit shiny by now. Yet Merlin's reaction stunned him. Instead of flipping or rejecting him, Merlin opened his mouth to release a startled breath. He fixed his eyes on Arthur, spearing him through and through. The expression in those eyes gentled by degrees though it was still charged. “There's one thing that hasn't changed about me,” he said.

Arthur wanted to ask and didn't want to at the same time. Merlin was looking at him in a different way from before, not tearing his eyes off him, and those eyes were clear, the shuttered veil that had made him so mysterious these past two days gone. And it was almost like before, like no time at all had passed.

“What hasn't?” he at last croaked. 

“You--”

Arthur pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “I've changed a lot, Merlin. I've taken over from my father. Practically ousted him. He had a heart attack, I think I'm to blame for. We're not on speaking terms anymore. There's not a day that passes when I don't blame myself for doing that to him and at the same time there's not a day that passes when I don't curse myself for doing something that made me lose you.”

Merlin's knee touched this. “That's exactly the thing that hasn't changed however much I wanted it to. I loved you then and I've never stopped. I've never stopped loving the memory of you even when you weren't there.”

Arthur had difficulty believing that. “But you said you hated me. I can understand that you stopped after a while, but still loving me after that?”

“I did hate you for a while. I've never said I was a hundred per cent coherent. But the love was in there too. I don't think I could have possibly been so angry and hurt if I hadn't loved you.”

“But,” Arthur said, “You married. You got married to someone else.”

Merlin touched his ring then, turning it on his finger, smiling down at it. “You know, I don't think you can portion out hearts. That there's only so much you can give and not more. I loved her. I loved our good moments too. And you.”

Arthur couldn't quite believe this was the truth. It was too huge a thing. It made everything flare. It made reality much brighter and scarier. There was nothing left but this big feeling housed in his chest. He thought he'd learnt to control it but given how fast his heart was beating, then evidently not. “So you still love me, as in now? Because I think maybe it's just that--” 

“I still love you, as in now,” Merlin said, bunching and twisting the stretch of quilt between them. 

Trembling, Arthur lifted his hand to Merlin's cheek, leaned over, spanning the gap between them, turning Merlin's head and, seeing no opposition – just wide eyes brimming over with feelings –, touched his mouth to Merlin's. 

His tongue slipped inside Merlin's mouth so he could taste him. Merlin's sudden intake of breath the only sound in the room. As Arthur's hands slipped around Merlin's neck and his fingertips teased the hair at his nape, looking for those longer tufts that were no longer there, his tongue sought the touch of Merlin's. The kiss was warm and sweet, tongues sliding and curling around each other slowly, gently.

Arthur’s pulse started ticking in his neck, fierce and fast, yet he tamed the kiss into a show of devotion. A swell of emotions – so vivid he wondered how he'd managed to stifle them – coursed through him. The kiss ended as it had begun with a series of short meetings of their lips, lingering and snatches, the light brush of lips against his trembling mouth filling his heart more than most sex acts indulged in during the years between his break up with Merlin and now.

Fear that this was going to be their first and last kiss eating at his insides, he tore his gaze from Merlin's mouth to his eyes. “I'm sorry I-- Perhaps I shouldn't have... I don't know whether you want--”  
Merlin grabbed at his hair and found his lips again.

*****

They had sex that night. It had been hurried, odd, carnal, hands jerky, fast and unmerciful. Merlin knew that some of his fear and anxiety at what he'd uncovered had gone into it, making of orgasm less than a search for pleasure or forgetfulness and more of a match between them. 

Arthur had led by example, being rougher, faster, less of a kisser than he usually was. They'd fallen asleep to the sound of their breathing waxing from a harried cadence to a slower one. 

When Merlin woke alone in the bed the morning after, it was to a message pinned to the pillow saying, “Out for a jog,” he guessed that Arthur wasn't all right at all with the news Merlin had carried. And who would be? Merlin had outed his only living parent as an unscrupulous man with no respect for the law. 

Someone who had probably got where he had because of the leverage he could exercise on major political players and big industry moguls and the like. It made you question the source of Uther Pendragon's media empire and wealth and Arthur's right to use those riches.

And the fact of the matter was that Arthur knew how privileged he was and never liked what that made of him. Merlin had been a fool and should have broken the news more gently. Hell, he didn't know what he'd done to Arthur in his rush to get things off his chest. He’d just needed to share, driven to distraction by the worry creeping over him.

Bile rising in his mouth, he went to look for the phone. Most of the time, Arthur never left it on its base. Today was a case in point. After some extensive searching Merlin found it under a cushion, buried between the folds of the divan.

He dialled Professor Taliesin's number by heart. The man was, after all, Merlin's supervisor and, as such, had built a rapport with Merlin over the last few months Merlin had spent working on his thesis. He’d gained access to his home number for thesis related purposes and was using it now because this was important. “Hello,” a sprightly voice said, “Taliesin speaking.”

“Professor,” Merlin said, “It's Merlin.”

“I did recognise you, yes, Merlin,” the Professor said. “How can I help you? Have you got the final recordings?”

“No,” said Merlin, passing a hand through his hair. “I meant to get them today. I've got a couple of discs, but that's not the point.” Merlin heard his supervisor humming curiously and hurried his next words out, “Maybe I shouldn't do it. Maybe I shouldn't be the one to tell on Uther Pendragon and his newspaper. He's...”

“Merlin,” said Professor Taliesin rather sternly. “I put your broadcast on line yesterday night. I'm sure we'll find the police on our doorstep soon enough. It's too late to stop this. Unless--” Merlin heard a dull thud as if the Professor had put the phone down or something. Then his voice came back. “Unless you've lied about your findings to get into the spotlight. Make your career.”

“No!” Merlin bit his own tongue so as not to curse. “I would never do that. That's not what journalism is about.”

“Many students would, Merlin,” Taliesin said, his voice could cut glass. “The recordings you showed me aren't the important ones. The ones you promised me were. The rest can be interpreted and is circumstantial at best. I believed you because you're with Pendragon's son. Thought you had access to incriminating files others wouldn’t. But your last minute cold feet make me think you might have misrepresented things to me for fame's sake and an easier ride.”

“No,” Merlin said, wanting to vomit. “I swear I didn't lie. I'll-- I'll show you the recordings, but you've got to pull my broadcast. I haven’t uploaded it on our VPN on purpose.”

Professor Taliesin sighed aloud in his ears. “I uploaded it on the net, Merlin. I did it because I trusted you.”

Merlin said, “I've got to go find those files now, sir,” and hung up.

He didn't even shower. He threw on yesterday's clothes and took the tube. He used his badge to get into the _News_ headquarters and ran up to the tiny archive cubicle he was given as an office. He found the door was locked. He searched all his pockets for the keys to it and exhaled loudly when he found them.

A little breathlessly he put his key in the lock but it wouldn't turn. He tried again, shimming the key. The door shook on its hinges, the glass quivering, but it wouldn't budge open. 

The security guard, the same from the night of his discoveries, said, “They changed the lock.”

“What! How?” Merlin whirled around, palming his nape. “How's that possible?”

“Mr Arthur Pendragon was here earlier this morning,” said the guard. “With a locksmith. He had the lock changed, saying there’d been a break-in the other day. I told him as long as it wasn't on my shift...” 

Merlin didn't stop to hear him finish or to ask any questions. He rushed to the lift and pushed the button to the underground floor insistently. The old archives were as open as they always were. So far so good. Not locked was good. But something in Merlin's gut told him that this expedition would be as fruitless as the other one.

He didn't really need to reach for the shelf and feel for the box that had been there the day before to know that the box wasn't there. His levels of nausea rose. He prayed it wasn't so. He did. As an act of conscientiousness he searched the shelving, from top to bottom, wall length. And then he had a cursory look at the whole roomful. 

But of course it wasn't there.

When he left he didn't even bother to close the door.

“Already going?” the security guard asked.

With a broken smile, Merlin nodded. “I don't think we'll see each other again.”

He ended up at Arthur's that night after having drunk his weight in alcohol at the pub closest to the newspaper's. Arthur wasn't in so Merlin sat on the floor, at the sofa's feet, a mug of coffee on his right, an uncapped beer bottle on his left. 

When Arthur came in it was past midnight and he looked like shit, wan, dishevelled and with grey smudges under his eyes. “Don't turn on the light,” Merlin said.

Enough light was streaming in from the window any way. “Merlin--”

“No, no,” said Merlin. “Please, let me first.”

Arthur put his briefcase down. “Merlin, I think--”

“You made it all disappear,” Merlin said, bitterness making his voice nasty. “And don't bother lying. The security guard said he saw you at the paper.”

“I don't want to lie, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking half a step forward. “I did it.”

“You fucked me over, you mean,” said Merlin, eyes, accustomed to the darkness, easily picking out Arthur, his dark suit, the glaring whiteness of his shirt, and the paler cast of his hair. 

“It's my father, Merlin,” said Arthur. “I couldn't betray him. I couldn't let him be ruined. It's not right and not moral. But he's my father and I love him.”

Merlin scoffed, pushing away both mug and beer bottle. He spilled some of the beer or the rug but couldn't care less. He swayed to an upright position. “I see how that works and why I was the one to get the back-stabbing.”

Arthur got him by the shoulders. “Merlin, he's my father. I couldn't stand by and watch him be harmed.” It was beyond him. “I just had to protect him.”

“As I said,” Merlin told Arthur with a vicious little smirk. “I completely understand your stance and your priorities. You still fucked my life. My apologies if my resenting your actions hurts your feelings.”

“Merlin, your big scoop will have to wait for another time,” said Arthur, “How's that fucking with your life as opposed to my father being subjected to an inquiry that might end with him jailed?”

Merlin laughed and stumbled backwards in his attempt to free himself from Arthur's touch. “How?” he said, his voice rising horribly. “How?” He spat the how into Arthur's face. “Professor Talisin uploaded my project broadcast on the internet. And now I have no proof to back up my allegations. Since Taliesin involved himself and his own name, he's incredibly mad at me, so he's reported me to the university’s Disciplinary Committee. They'll start a procedure for sure.” His voice trembled. “And like hell I'm going to graduate from City University.” He slapped his own forehead. “So basically I'm well and truly fucked.”

“Merlin, I couldn't have known about your Prof going and doing that, but I'll try to help you. I swear to God. I just wanted to help my own dad too, Merlin.”

Merlin sniffed up snot. “Yeah, I realised. My life's still fucked, you clearly didn't give a shit about what'd happen to me--”

“Merlin, that's not true,” Arthur said, levelly and seriously. He looked hurt and concerned, projecting a softer aura. “Am I proud of what I did? No. I don't really like myself at the moment, Merlin. I truly don't. But if you think for a moment that I don't care about you, you're mad. I had to do something. Stop-gap the mess. But I care.”

“And did you really think for even a moment that we wouldn't be over once you'd pulled this one?”

Arthur's eyes filled with tears, tears he didn't shed. Merlin was somewhat spitefully sorry to see he didn't. “No, but I hoped... He's family, Merlin. I just didn't know what to do.”

Merlin faked a smile he was sure Arthur wasn't fooled by. “It's all right. I'd probably kill if i had my dad back. I still hate you though.” He tottered to the door. “I'll see myself out.”

“Wait,” Arthur almost dashed to the door to prevent him, “You're wasted, you--” But Merlin didn't hear him because he was already halfway down the stairs by then.

***** 

Merlin let his lips be and started at Arthur's neck, moving his mouth over the skin. He skimmed his mouth everywhere, brushing tendons and hollows. Merlin nuzzled his throat with unrelenting focus, as if he was re-learning Arthur's body from scratch, like he wanted to imprint the texture of it on his senses. 

His mouth chased down his chin then travelled down his throat, sucking, licking, peppering it with fevered kisses that heated Arthur's blood, as if he shared that particular fever too. 

Merlin pulled away to breathe, eyes flaring wide, chest heaving. Then as if whipped into motion, he straddled Arthur, cradled his hips with his own.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, the truce between them fragile, a taut thread that might snap in two and leave the embers of passion and the fires of hate behind. “Are you--”

But even then Arthur's hands flew to Merlin's hips, an undercurrent of swift exhilaration making him breathe faster, making him giddy. So giddy there was no place for ominous thoughts and despair, no place for the weight that had shrouded his life these past few years.

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “I'm pretty sure this is what I want.” He clamped his mouth shut then, as if that was going to be his last word on the subject. It probably was.

He thrust his hips forwards and Arthur's hands tightened on his waist. He did it again, startling a low- pitched sob out of Arthur. “Come on,” he said. 

Arthur slipped his hands under Merlin's shirt, stroked his stomach, skimmed his hands slowly up his ribs, ran them along his back. Arthur instinctively rocked up into him, arousal flaring, sapping all shreds of rationality away. He must have looked a little crazy too, hands hungry, eyes even hungrier.

Merlin slipped his shirt over his head, ribs showing. His muscles bunched and stretched with the movement. He tossed the shirt on the floor. 

He sat there, on top of Arthur, naked from the waist up, his shoulders wide and strong, his stomach flat. His ribcage rose and fell to a shuddering pitch with his fast breathing. 

At the sight, Arthur's palms slid upwards over his chest. He flicked his thumb over a nipple, sweeping his hands downwards to cover Merlin's flanks. 

His hands mapped Merlin out. He ran them over his belly, up his chest, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough warm skin, not enough closeness. Shifting Merlin a little, he sat up abruptly to suck on his neck, taste him with his tongue. To scatter uncoordinated kisses over the line of his collarbone.

A big shuddering sigh escaped Merlin's lips as he threw his head back, bearing down on him at the same time as his fingers worked the buttons of Arthur's shirt blindly. When he'd reached the last one he pushed Arthur's shirt off his shoulder, letting it drape at the base of Arthur's spine.

Arthur kissed up Merlin's throat, down the side of his jaw, licking at his chin on his way to his mouth. The kiss that followed was shared in the space between their mouths, taking shape in tiny little licks and in the wet sliding of tongues.

They both moaned loudly, Arthur cupping the side of Merlin's face, his other arm wrapped around Merlin's middle, clinging fiercely. They were both panting fast, gasping in each other's mouths, eyes locked. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, at a loss for words that held any meaning, thinking that saying his name would make everything clear, the measure of his longing, the strength of his desire, the way this was like rediscovering the thing that had had made you happy. It had been a long time since he felt that.

Merlin took to grinding himself down into him, their erections brushing against each other. The instinct to buck his hips up to seek that friction, that stimulus, was maddening. The measure of Arthur’s breaths shortened and he would have made a quick thing of this encounter by coming too soon, if Merlin hadn't pushed him down. 

Merlin bent forward and trailed his tongue over Arthur's chest and then over his nipples, making Arthur push up to meet the touch. 

To keep him still, Merlin put his palm on Arthur's shoulder, pressing him into the mattress as he slowly kissed his way down his body. It was precise, careful, sensual, Merlin's lips playing him to a fine tune.

Arthur’s body arched into Merlin even if he was being held down.

“I've missed you,” Arthur said, so low Arthur wasn't sure Merlin could hear. “You don't know how much.”

His hands fisting Arthur's hair, Merlin trailed his lips up again till he was murmuring against Arthur's lips. Mostly it was nonsense words. But then he said, “Let me and get these off.” 

The fingers tugging on his belt were explanation enough. 

Arthur nodded, sought Merlin's mouth, in a kiss, a kiss Merlin withheld in favour of jumping upright to get rid of his remaining clothes. 

As Arthur was shimmying out of his, Merlin climbed back on the bed, helping him by yanking on his jeans and pulling them off his feet. 

Arthur stopped being cold the moment Merlin covered him with his body, kissing him and pulling on his dick. Arthur went crazy, losing the kiss in his need to thrash his head. He couldn't just take it. He couldn't just take it and stand still, keep silent. He'd missed this with an intensity that only now became clear. It fanned his need to a lancing pitch.

Merlin stretched out across his body and kissed him again, taking both their cocks together in his hand, cock-heads slipping and sliding against each other, his other arm braced taut on the bed. As Merlin moved, it became wetter and more and more pleasurable.

Arthur hooked a foot behind Merlin's knee to pull him closer. He needed close. He needed Merlin’s touch. His body.

Merlin's head lolled onto Arthur's shoulder, turning to his neck to suck at it. Arthur's head fell back, eyelids drooping shut with the blinding pleasure. His mouth fell open as he bucked up, his body getting whip-cord tense as Merlin ground against him. 

Heat blasted through him with every bump and slide of their pricks. To feel even more he jerked his hips up faster and faster, clutching at Merlin's side to keep a hold on reality. Merlin sped up too, rubbing and slamming their cocks together.

Arthur pulled in a breath and his fingers tightened on Merlin's flank. Working his hips up one final time, he came, pleasure gushing out of him with his orgasm, spilling all over his belly and Merlin's cock. Right on the heels of Arthur's wracking orgasm, Merlin's hips stuttered, and he rippled over the edge too. 

Heavy, hot, and sweaty, Merlin slumped on top of him, soft sighs passing into each other's mouths. 

Their noses almost touched before they both gave in to the urge to fall asleep.

**** 

The new flat – pardon apartment – was small, but it had a large window facing a back street, had come furnished, and since he split the rent it was affordable. Plus it sat on top of a Greek restaurant, which meant he never went hungry much, being able to pop down at any given moment. A downside was that being subjected to the smell of cooking twenty-four seven could occasionally be much.

All in all, Merlin thought, he liked his tiny room, liked Jackson Heights and believed he would be able to afford the place long run if he only got hired. He'd just sunk on his bed when his flat mate, Gilli, shouted, “Merlin, phoooone, for you!”

Merlin skipped back into the living room, jumping over Gilli's cases of power drinks to get to the phone. “Mr Emrys,” said a modulated feminine voice. “I'm, Celia, Mr Gawant's assistant at the New York Daily. Mr Gawant was very pleased with your interview and wants you to come back for another. I've called to schedule one.”

Merlin's knees almost gave. Gilli pushed a kitchen stool his way. Merlin sank on it and, stability ensured, answered. You never knew, after all: if he was too slow they might rethink his call back interview. “I'm available every day, any day.”

“Play hard to get!” Gilli stage whispered so loud Merlin was sure Celia had heard him. “Or they'll think you're cheap.”

There was a gentle giggle on the other side, then Celia said, “Would Wednesday at ten be fine?”

“Say no,” Gilli chanted. “Say no! Make it Friday.”

Merlin waved Gilli away. “Yeah, yeah,” said Merlin. “It would be perfect?” said Merlin rather excitedly, he'd have to admit.

Celia had another little chuckle at his expense and said, “Slotted you in. See you on Wednesday, Mr Emrys.”

“Er, see you,” said Merlin, sounding befuddled but internally jubilant. Conversation over, he hung up, smiling like an addled idiot at the hand set. “I think I've got a foot in!” Merlin said. He might have hopped in place. “This makes me more relaxed about staying on than my Third Preference Category visa. Visas fore professionals are good but they're not feeding you exactly. And the term 'third preference' always sounded ominous.”

“Hurray for that!” said Gilli, giving him the thumbs up. 

Gilli's thumbs up were a bit of a dampener though. Gilli was always too enthusiastic and his enthusiasm was rarely grounded in reality. Was Merlin rushing to conclusions, already thinking the job his only because Mr Gawant wanted to see him again? “Let's not put the cart before the horse, all right?”.

“Nah,” said Gilli. “I think that call means you've got the job.”

Merlin laughed, thinking of home and the things he'd left behind there. Repressing the thought of Arthur to focus on his new opportunities, his new beginning. So, all right, he was alone, with only Gilli for a casual friend, no fixed job yet, and limited prospects of getting a decent income.

Not to mention his non-existent chances in the UK. His name had become synonymous with unreliability there. After the Disciplinary Committee’s ruling, he’d had to switch unis and courses and take supplementary modules only to get a degree in Wales. His reputation had more than suffered though Camelot had never sued, which had made some believe his allegations weren’t entirely based on nothing. 

But everything wasn't so bad, right? Mr Gawant must have liked him, at least a little. 

Merlin smiled at the floor, a little melancholy, a little hopeful, not sure himself which feeling prevailed. It wasn't a comfortable sensation, but he could deal and it was better than the plain dejection of the past year. “Perhaps?”

Gilli walked over to him and backslapped him. “I think it's a sure thing, dude.”

Merlin let himself believe it.

*****

They didn't go down for dinner, but stole apples from a bowl and stayed naked on the bed talking, talking for hours about what had happened in between their last meeting and now. “So you took over from your father?”

“I drove him out, Merlin,” said Arthur, fingers pattering down Merlin's side. “I bought larger shares of Camelot Media, talked the board into going with me, and ended up taking control. My father became a minority partner. He never accepted it. He raged so much. But that was the only way I had to control what he was doing. The behind the scenes. Put an end to all illegal action.”

“You know,” said Merlin, playing with the trim of the pillowcases, “the day after I told you I almost chickened out. For you. Since, I've regretted many things... But if I had done it, chickened out, I mean, I'm not sure I could have lived with myself.”

“Integrity,” said Arthur. “I know it's important. Because of it I reformed Camelot Media from the inside. I struggled to become a better person. And I'm not saying that I am but I can live with the new me while I didn't like the man who orchestrated the cover-up.” 

“It was an impossible quandary, Arthur. Maybe we could have survived it, maybe not. But it was never clear cut. I can't hate you for loving your father. Though I did question..”

Arthur kissed Merlin hard and fierce. “Don't. Because you going away killed me.” Merlin cupped his neck, looking thoughtful, as if he was weighing the truth of Arthur's words or comparing them to his own memories. Arthur continued, “I was young and stupid and my father's approval was what I wanted and needed. I acted out of a primal instinct to protect my family...”

“Maybe I'd have done the same,” said Merlin. “I don't know. I was never in a position to.”

“I can hardly see your mum being corrupt the way my father let himself become.”

Merlin hiccuped a chuckle. “No, I can't see her pulling something like that either. But... when Freya was dying.. I bargained with God a lot. I swear I wouldn't have been upright for a day if it had bought her one more day. If I could have pushed her up on that transplant list, I would have, whatever it took. I was never put in such a position though.”

Merlin's eyes went misty, veiled, and sad. “Talk to me about the good moments you had with her,” Arthur said in an attempt to see Merlin smile again. “Please.”

“She liked waffles,” said Merlin. “She bought a waffle maker even though she didn't know how to make waffles or how to use the blasted thing.”

“She was a gourmet,” said Arthur.

“Indeed, she was.” Merlin grinned. It broke Arthur in tiny pieces. Freya had managed to make Merlin so happy in such a short time while he had only brought Merlin heartache. But if Merlin could grin and share this with him, maybe he could forget to be jealous. They could learn to forgive and forget. “What else?”

“She was second generation,” Merlin said. “Her parents were from Europe. She grew up in New Jersey. She loved singing, but couldn't hold a tune to save her life. Her favourite song was Fix You. I met her at an art show called the Armoury Show and only later I found out that she had an exhibition there.”

“Those are great memories,” said Arthur. “I'd be lying if I said the thought of you and her doesn't hurt... but I never wanted you unhappy.”

“I know,” said Merlin.

“Do you?” Arthur propped himself up on an elbow. “I often thought you'd paint me as the devil in your head.”

“I found out that you fixed me the job at the New York Daily,” said Merlin. “Elena Gawant, my boss' daughter, spilled the beans. At first I wanted to give notice because I hadn't earned the position. And then I decided that I'd prove to Gawant and the world that I was good at it. That I'd work hard. And... Gawant said he didn't keep me on because of you. He only hired me because of your influence. So I ploughed on... And here I am...”

Arthur kissed him then, wanting to tell Merlin he'd always known he'd be brilliant. That he had an irrepressible talent and that Arthur believed in him. But he didn't. It would have sounded as though he was saying that to flatter Merlin for his own personal gain. Instead they had sex again, and he let himself fall asleep to the tempo of Merlin's slowing breathing.

The next morning, the morning of the wedding, Arthur didn't find Merlin in the bed with him. This was Merlin's bedroom. There was no reason for Merlin to vacate it unless he meant to flee Arthur. To avoid him. He felt as if his legs had been kicked from under him, so sick he could have thrown up on the spot but for a will not to do so.

All sorts of ideas flitted through Arthur's brain as he had breakfast. Merlin had left because he'd found out he still hated him after all and was horrified by what they'd done. Arthur spilled his tea and Gwen helped him mop it up. Merlin had only had sex with him to get back at him, to make fun of his feelings after all this time. Arthur covered the bruise Merlin had put on his neck with his fingers. Gwen had seen it before he could conceal it and smiled up ruefully at him. Merlin had had a crisis of conscience over Freya and was somewhere hating himself for ruining her memory. Arthur pushed his chair back abruptly, intending to once again look for Merlin.

“Where are you going?” said Gwen, “the wedding's in an hour and a half!”

Arthur sat back down. He couldn’t ruin Gwaine’s wedding.

Half an hour later, Gwaine, already dressed up, hair in a pony tail, came thundering down, yelling about, “The wedding ring. Merlin's got the ring! Where's Merlin?” The question was so pointedly snarled at Arthur, with an edge of anger that went beyond the preoccupation inherent to the ritual, that Arthur was taken aback. “I don't know,” he said though he didn't offer a single protest as to the implications of the question. That Arthur had been instrumental to Merlin’s vanishing act.

In the end, they used one of Gwaine's late grandmother's rings in lieu of the wedding band Gwaine had purchased in one of London's top jewelleries. 

All eyes – or at least most – were on him as they drove to the church in Elstree. At least until Gareth stole the spotlight by being dumped (and kicked in the shin) by Alana the Bridesmaid for sleeping with another bridesmaid, who promptly fled in high heels down a country lane. Just as it began to thunder. It all happened very publicly, on the church's steps.

Since the best man hadn't made an appearance yet, Gwaine talked with the Vicar and bought himself a half hour slot. The Vicar apparently had another wedding to celebrate after Gwaine and Vivian's. Then Gwaine phoned Vivian and told her to drive around for a while.

Arthur stood on the steps of the church, pacing up and down. He didn't even have Merlin's mobile. Maybe idea number two was the correct one. Merlin had wanted revenge.

Vivian arrived but not Merlin. And with her a bunch of paparazzi, who'd been able to locate the church the marriage would be celebrated in by following the metallic Bentley that toured the streets of Elstree. 

The director of Viv's new film, a paparazzo-stalked celeb in his own right, arrived fashionably late, allowing the paps some shots and then asked Viv, “I hope he's not like this when it comes to screen-play re-writes.”

“Oh, no,” said Viv. “Merlin's a dear. He'll be here.”

The wedding started off on a tense note, with Lance and Gwen sitting in different pews, Percy and Mary eyeing each other warily, a bridesmaid in tears and Arthur standing in for Merlin. Arthur's attention wasn't on the ceremony, either, so he missed all his cues, even the easy ones. 

He couldn't help but go over the preceding day for clues, clues telling him that Merlin had played him, or that he had been mistaken about his feelings. He couldn't find any. The day before he'd had the best sex in years, the kind that isn't just pleasurable. The kind that stays with you, the kind that shakes you apart.

He was angry at Merlin and himself by turns. At Merlin for hurting him. At himself for having hurt Merlin. And then again at himself for having let himself be hurt by Merlin. By the time the church door opened, Arthur was labouring under a pounding headache and the most confusing and racking volley of emotions he'd ever been subjected to.

And then Merlin was there, saying, “May I take my rightful place? I have the ring after all?”

Gwaine and Vivian rushed down the three steps that had brought them level with the vicar to go and hug Merlin, Gwaine saying, “Don't you dare play truant on my wedding again!”

Vivian sank her heel in his loafer. “I hope you don't plan to marry again.”

“I was merely talking about our second marriage ceremony, beauty, in ten years time.”

So Gwaine and Vivian did get married, Merlin passing Gwaine the ring at the right moment, despite playing at having lost it. He winked at an outraged audience, said, “Oops,” and then put the ring on a tiny pillow the page was carrying.

Merlin pointed and said, “See, I hadn't forgotten it after all.” To point, Merlin had lifted his hand. Arthur saw he was no longer wearing his own wedding ring. But none of Gwaine and Vivian's guests noticed; they just laughed at his antics, all but the bride's father pleased.

After the wedding celebration was over, Merlin came up to him.

“You looked thunderous before, so I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“You don't owe me anything,” said Arthur, draining his champagne flute. “It was sex. We're exes. It happens.” His jaw was locked so hard it hurt.

“I'd be lying if I told you I didn't try to think of it that way when I woke up,” Merlin said. “Or that I didn't panic.”

“So let's write it down to a wedding inspired mood,” said Arthur, keeping his expression shuttered. He knew that if his eyes fell on Merlin, that if he let himself go, he'd be done for. At his mercy. And this time he wasn't twenty-two and likely to recover. He'd never even recovered then. He'd just had a life project involving his own father, Camelot, and his own redemption.

“I panicked because I love you. I love you still. After everything. And because I feared going in circles.”

“I don't see how,” said Arthur. He didn't want to believe Merlin's words were true. He'd had all morning to steel himself against them. “It's all different now.”

“Not really,” said Merlin. “My feelings are the same, you're the same, only... even better. Any protection I had from you is gone. Freya's gone. My job... After Freya I couldn’t stand New York anymore. It was our city. I'm moving back to the UK, Arthur. I'm the screen-play writer for Vivian's new film. 

Arthur's lips twitched. “The one about pirates?”

Merlin cuffed him. There wasn't much heart behind it but it mellowed Arthur lots. Made his heart constrict. “Pirates are a romp, Arthur.”

Arthur sobered. “So you're saying...”

“That I feared becoming so wrapped up in you that it'd kill me if we didn't work out.”

“Then why have you come back now?” That was the question, wasn't it? Because Merlin had to want it as much as Arthur. Believe Arthur had changed and that this time there'd be no damned if you do, damned if you don't scenario to destroy them. Or that if there was they could talk about it and find a way to live with it. Arthur was willing to try. Merlin would have to be on the same wave length.

“Because I can't live in fear of what I feel. Because you only live once. And because I feel what I feel and it won't go. I just... I'm just asking you for a chance to get to know you again. Little by little. Getting back with you without jumping head first into it.”

“We have issues to clear.” Arthur agreed. “But if you give me a chance. I'll give you time.” He'd have said he'd do anything for Merlin. And today it was true. He didn't think Merlin'd believe him when six years previously he'd sacrificed him for his father. So he kept the lesson he'd learnt to himself. “Just... Let's try it, together? Be with me the way you can today, and see where it takes us. No sweeping under the carpet just... us being us.”

“All right,” said Merlin. “Let's try that.”

They kissed.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by _Peter's Friends_


End file.
